THE  GHOST 

A  MODERN    FANTASY 


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OF 
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THE  GHOST 

A    MODERN    FANTASY 


THE    GHOST 


A  Modern  Fantasy 


BY 


ARNOLD    BENNETT 

AUTHOR  OF    "THE  OLD  WIVES*  TALES,"    ««  CLAYHANGER," 
ETC.,   ETC. 


BOSTON 

SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 
1911 


Copyright,  1907 
BY  HERBERT  B.   TURNER  &  Co. 

Copyright,  1911 

BY  SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 
(INCORPORATED) 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  MY  SPLENDID  COUSIN        .        *       *        •  •        i 

.II.  AT  THE  OPERA  .        .        .        *        *      .  •  •      15 

III.  THE  CRY  OF  ALRESCA       .        .        .        .  •      37 

IV.  ROSA'S  SUMMONS        ...        .        .  .      53 

V.  THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  MAN    ....      69 

VI.  ALRESCA'S  FATE         .*.....        .        .  •      97 

VII.  THE  VIGIL  BY  THE  BIER  .                .        .  .122 

VIII.  THE  MESSAGE     .        .       v      .      "•       .  .     134 

IX.  THE  TRAIN.        ,       .       .       •       .        .  .150 

X.  THE  STEAMER     .                .       .        .        .  .172 

XI.  A  CHAT  WITH  ROSA  .        ...        .  .     196 

XII.  EGG -AND -MILK    .            .           .           .           .           .  .      210 

XIII.  THE  PORTRAIT   .        .        .        .        .        .  .    224 

XIV.  THE  VILLA.        .        .        .        ...  .    237 

XV.  THE  SHEATH  OF  THE  DAGGER  ....    249 

XVI.  THE  THING  IN  THE  CHAIR        .        *        .  .     260 

XVII.  THE  MENACE      .        .        .        .                *  .    273 

XVIII.     THE  STRUGGLE .286 

XIX.  THE  INTERCESSION     •        .....    298 


THE  GHOST 

CHAPTER   I 

MY   SPLENDID   COUSIN 

I  am  eight  years  older  now.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  me  that  I  am  advancing  in  life 
and  experience  until,  in  setting  myself  to 
recall  the  various  details  of  the  affair,  I  sud- 
denly remembered  my  timid  confusion  before 
the  haughty  mien  of  the  clerk  at  Keith 
Prowse's. 

I  had  asked  him : 

"  Have  you  any  amphitheatre  seats  for  the 
Opera  to-night?  " 

He  did  not  reply.  He  merely  put  his  lips 
together  and  waved  his  hand  slowly  from  side 
to  side. 

Not  perceiving,  in  my  simplicity,  that  he 
was  thus  expressing  a  sublime  pity  for  the 
ignorance  which  my  demand  implied,  I  inno- 
cently proceeded : 

"Nor  balcony?" 


2  THE    GHOST 

This  time  he  condescended  to  speak. 

"  Noth— ing,  sir." 

Then  I  understood  that  what  he  meant  was : 
"  Poor  fool !  why  don't  you  ask  for  the  moon?  " 

I  blushed.  Yes,  I  blushed  before  the  clerk 
at  Keith  Prowse's,  and  turned  to  leave  the 
shop.  I  suppose  he  thought  that  as  a  Christian 
it  was  his  duty  to  enlighten  my  pitiable  dark- 
ness. 

"  It's  the  first  Rosa  night  to-night,"  he  said 
with  august  affability.  "  I  had  a  couple  of 
stalls  this  morning,  but  I've  just  sold  them 
over  the  telephone  for  six  pound  ten." 

He  smiled.  His  smile  crushed  me.  I  know 
better  now.  I  know  that  clerks  in  box-offices, 
with  their  correct  neckties  and  their  air  of  con- 
tinually doing  wonders  over  the  telephone,  are 
not,  after  all,  the  grand  masters  of  the  operatic 
world.  I  know  that  that  manner  of  theirs  is 
merely  a  part  of  their  attire,  like  their  cravats ; 
that  they  are  not  really  responsible  for  the 
popularity  of  great  sopranos;  and  that  they 
probably  go  home  at  nights  to  Fulham  by  the 
white  omnibus,  or  to  Hammersmith  by  the 
red  one  —  and  not  in  broughams. 

"  I  see,"  I  observed,  carrying  my  crushed 
remains  out  into  the  street.  Impossible  to 


MY   SPLENDID    COUSIN  3 

conceal  the  fact  that  I  had  recently  arrived 
from  Edinburgh  as  raw  as  a  ploughboy! 

If  you  had  seen  me  standing  irresolute  on 
the  pavement,  tapping  my  stick  of  Irish  bog- 
oak  idly  against  the  curbstone,  you  would  have 
seen  a  slim  youth,  rather  nattily  dressed  (I 
think),  with  a  shadow  of  brown  on  his  upper 
lip,  and  a  curl  escaping  from  under  his  hat,  and 
the  hat  just  a  little  towards  the  back  of  his 
head,  and  a  pretty  good  chin,  and  the  pride  of 
life  in  his  ingenuous  eye.  Quite  unaware  that 
he  was  immature!  Quite  unaware  that  the 
supple  curves  of  his  limbs  had  an  almost  fem- 
inine grace  that  made  older  fellows  feel  pater- 
nal !  Quite  unaware  that  he  had  everything  to 
learn,  and  that  all  his  troubles  lay  before  him ! 
Actually  fancying  himself  a  man  because  he 
had  just  taken  his  medical  degree,  .  .  . 

The  June  sun  shone  gently  radiant  in  a  blue 
sky,  and  above  the  roofs  milky-bosomed  clouds 
were  floating  in  a  light  wind.  The  town  was 
bright,  fresh,  alert,  as  London  can  be  during 
the  season,  and  the  joyousness  of  the  busy 
streets  echoed  the  joyousness  of  my  heart  (for 
I  had  already,  with  the  elasticity  of  my  years, 
recovered  from  the  reverse  inflicted  on  me  by 
Keith  Prowse's  clerk).  On  the  opposite  side 


4  THE    GHOST 

of  the  street  were  the  rich  premises  of  a  well- 
known  theatrical  club,  whose  weekly  enter- 
tainments had  recently  acquired  fame.  I  was, 
I  recollect,  proud  of  knowing  the  identity  of 
the  building  —  it  was  one  of  the  few  things  I 
did  know  in  London  —  and  I  was  observing 
with  interest  the  wondrous  livery  of  the  two 
menials  motionless  behind  the  glass  of  its  por- 
tals, when  a  tandem  equipage  drew  up  in  front 
of  the  pile,  and  the  menials  darted  out,  in  their 
white  gloves,  to  prove  that  they  were  alive  and 
to  justify  their  existence. 

It  was  an  amazingly  complete  turnout,  and 
it  well  deserved  all  the  attention  it  attracted, 
which  was  considerable.  The  horses  were  ca- 
pricious, highly  polished  grays,  perhaps  a  trifle 
undersized,  but  with  such  an  action  as  is  not 
to  be  bought  for  less  than  twenty-five  guineas 
a  hoof;  the  harness  was  silver-mounted;  the 
dog-cart  itself  a  creation  of  beauty  and  nice 
poise;  the  groom  a  pink  and  priceless  perfec- 
tion. But  the  crown  and  summit  of  the  work 
was  the  driver  —  a  youngish  gentleman  who, 
from  the  gloss  of  his  peculiarly  shaped  collar 
to  the  buttons  of  his  diminutive  boots,  exuded 
an  atmosphere  of  expense.  His  gloves,  his 
scarf-pin,  his  watch-chain,  his  mustache,  his 


MY    SPLENDID    COUSIN  5 

eye-glass,  the  crease  in  his  nether  garments,  the 
cut  of  his  coat-tails,  the  curves  of  his  hat  —  all 
uttered  with  one  accord  the  final  word  of  fash- 
ion, left  nothing  else  to  be  said.  The  correct- 
ness of  Keith  Prowse's  clerk  was  as  naught  to 
his  correctness.  He  looked  as  if  he  had 
emerged  immaculate  from  the  outfitter's  bou- 
doir, an  achievement  the  pride  of  Bond  Street. 

As  this  marvellous  creature  stood  up  and 
prepared  to  alight  from  the  vehicle,  he  chanced 
to  turn  his  eye-glass  in  my  direction.  He 
scanned  me  carelessly,  glanced  away,  and 
scanned  me  again  with  a  less  detached  stare. 
And  I,  on  my  part,  felt  the  awakening  of  a 
memory. 

"  That's  my  cousin  Sullivan,"  I  said  to  my- 
self. "  I  wonder  if  he  wants  to  be  friends." 

Our  eyes  coquetted.  I  put  one  foot  into  the 
roadway,  withdrew  it,  restored  it  to  the  road- 
way, and  then  crossed  the  street. 

It  was  indeed  the  celebrated  Sullivan  Smith, 
composer  of  those  so  successful  musical  come- 
dies, "The  Japanese  Cat,"  "The  Arabian 
Girl,"  and  "  My  Queen."  And  he  condescended 
to  recognize  me!  His  gestures  indicated,  in 
fact,  a  warm  desire  to  be  cousinly.  I  reached 
him.  The  moment  was  historic.  While  the 


6  THE    GHOST 

groom  held  the  wheeler's  head,  and  the  twin 
menials  assisted  with  dignified  inactivity,  we 
shook  hands. 

"  How  long  is  it?  "  he  said. 

"  Fifteen  years  —  about,"  I  answered,  feel- 
ing deliciously  old. 

"  Remember  I  punched  your  head?  " 

"Rather!"  (Somehow  I  was  proud  that  he 
had  punched  my  head.) 

"  No  credit  to  me,"  he  added  magnani- 
mously, "  seeing  I  was  years  older  than  you 
and  a  foot  or  so  taller.  By  the  way,  Carl,  how 
old  did  you  say  you  were?  " 

He  regarded  me  as  a  sixth-form  boy  might 
regard  a  fourth-form  boy. 

"  I  didn't  say  I  was  any  age,"  I  replied. 
"  But  I'm  twenty-three." 

"  Well,  then,  you're  quite  old  enough  to  have 
a  drink.  Come  into  the  club  and  partake  of  a 
gin-and-angostura,  old  man.  I'll  clear  all  this 
away." 

He  pointed  to  the  equipage,  the  horses,  and 
the  groom,  and  with  an  apparently  magic  word 
whispered  into  the  groom's  ear  he  did  in  fact 
clear  them  away.  They  rattled  and  jingled  off 
in  the  direction  of  Leicester  Square,  while 


MY    SPLENDID    COUSIN  7 

Sullivan  muttered  observations  on  the  groom's 
driving. 

"  Don't  imagine  I  make  a  practice  of  tooling 
tandems  down  to  my  club,"  said  Sullivan.  "  I 
don't.  I  brought  the  thing  along  to-day  be- 
cause I've  sold  it  complete  to  Lottie  Cass. 
You  know  her,  of  course?" 

"  I  don't." 

"  Well,  anyhow,"  he  went  on  after  this 
check,  "  I've  sold  her  the  entire  bag  of  tricks. 
What  do  you  think  I'm  going  to  buy?  " 

"What?" 

"  A  motor-car,  old  man !  " 

In  those  days  the  person  who  bought  a 
motor-car  was  deemed  a  fearless  adventurer 
of  romantic  tendencies.  And  Sullivan  so 
deemed  himself.  The  very  word  "  motor- 
car "  then  had  a  strange  and  thrilling  romantic 
sound  with  it. 

"  The  deuce  you  are !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  I  am,"  said  he,  happy  in  having  impressed 
me.  He  took  my  arm  as  though  we  had  been 
intimate  for  a  thousand  years,  and  led  me  fear- 
lessly past  the  swelling  menials  within  the  gate 
to  the  club  smoking-room,  and  put  me  into  a 
grandfather's  chair  of  pale  heliotrope  plush  in 
front  of  an  onyx  table,  and  put  himself  into 


8  THE    GHOST 

another  grandfather's  chair  of  heliotrope  plush. 
And  in  the  cushioned  quietude  of  the  smoking- 
room,  where  light-shod  acolytes  served  gin- 
and-angostura  as  if  serving  gin-and-angostura 
had  been  a  religious  rite,  Sullivan  went  through 
an  extraordinary  process  of  unchaining  him- 
self. His  form  seemed  to  be  crossed  and  re- 
crossed  with  chains  —  gold  chains.  At  the  end 
of  one  gold  chain  was  a  gold  cigarette-case, 
from  which  he  produced  gold-tipped  cigar- 
ettes. At  the  end  of  another  was  a  gold  match- 
box. At  the  end  of  another,  which  he  may  or 
may  not  have  drawn  out  by  mistake,  were  all 
sorts  of  things  —  knives,  keys,  mirrors,  and 
pencils.  A  singular  ceremony!  But  I  was 
now  in  the  world  of  gold. 

And  then  smoke  ascended  from  the  gold- 
tipped  cigarettes  as  incense  from  censers,  and 
Sullivan  lifted  his  tinted  glass  of  gin-and- 
angostura,  and  I,  perceiving  that  such  actions 
were  expected  of  one  in  a  theatrical  club,  re- 
sponsively  lifted  mine,  and  the  glasses  collided, 
and  Sullivan  said: 

"  Here's  to  the  end  of  the  great  family 
quarrel." 

"  I'm  with  you,"  said  I. 

And  we  sipped. 


MY    SPLENDID    COUSIN  9 

My  father  had  quarrelled  with  his  mother  in 
an  epoch  when  even  musical  comedies  were 
unknown,  and  the  quarrel  had  spread,  as  fam- 
ily quarrels  do,  like  a  fire  or  the  measles.  The 
punching  of  my  head  by  Sullivan  in  the  extinct 
past  had  been  one  of  its  earliest  consequences. 

"  May  the  earth  lie  lightly  on  them ! "  said 
Sullivan. 

He  was  referring  to  the  originators  of  the 
altercation.  The  tone  in  which  he  uttered  this 
wish  pleased  me  —  it  was  so  gentle.  It  hinted 
that  there  was  more  in  Sullivan  than  met  the 
eye,  though  a  great  deal  met  the  eye.  I  liked 
him.  He  awed  me,  and  he  also  seemed  to  me 
somewhat  ridiculous  in  his  excessive  pomp. 
But  I  liked  him. 

The  next  instant  we  were  talking  about  Sul- 
livan Smith.  How  he  contrived  to  switch  the 
conversation  suddenly  into  that  channel  I  can- 
not imagine.  Some  people  have  a  gift  of  con- 
juring with  conversations.  They  are  almost 
always  frankly  and  openly  interested  in  them- 
selves, as  Sullivan  was  interested  in  himself. 
You  may  seek  to  foil  them;  you  may  even 
violently  wrench  the  conversation  into  other 
directions.  But  every  effort  will  be  useless. 
They  will  beat  you.  You  had  much  better  lean 


io  THE    GHOST 

back  in  your  chair  and  enjoy  their  legerde- 
main. 

In  about  two  minutes  Sullivan  was  in  the 
very  midst  of  his  career. 

"  I  never  went  in  for  high  art,  you  know. 
All  rot!  I  found  I  could  write  melodies  that 
people  liked  and  remembered."  (He  was  so 
used  to  reading  interviews  with  himself  in 
popular  weeklies  that  he  had  caught  the  for- 
malistic  phraseology,  and  he  was  ready  appar- 
ently to  mistake  even  his  cousin  for  an  inter- 
viewer. But  I  liked  him.)  "And  I  could  get 
rather  classy  effects  out  of  an  orchestra.  And 
so  I  kept  on.  I  didn't  try  to  be  Wagner.  I 
just  stuck  to  Sullivan  Smith.  And,  my  boy, 
let  me  tell  you  it's  only  five  years  since  '  The 
Japanese-  Cat '  was  produced,  and  I'm  only 
twenty-seven,  my  boy !  And  now,  who  is  there 
that  doesn't  know  me?"  He  put  his  elbows 
on  the  onyx.  "  Privately,  between  cousins, 
you  know,  I  made  seven  thousand  quid  last 
year,  and  spent  half  that.  I  live  on  half  my 
income;  always  have  done;  always  shall. 
Good  principle!  I'm  a  man  of  business,  I  am, 
Carl  Foster.  Give  the  public  what  they  want, 
and  save  half  your  income  —  that's  the  ticket. 
Look  at  me.  I've  got  to  act  the  duke;  it  pays, 


MY   SPLENDID    COUSIN  11 

so  I  do  it.  I  am  a  duke.  I  get  twopence  apiece 
royalty  on  my  photographs.  That's  what 
you'll  never  reach  up  to,  not  if  you're  the  big- 
gest doctor  in  the  world."  He  laughed.  "  By 
the  way,  how's  Jem  getting  along?  Still  prac- 
tising at  Totnes?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said. 

"Doing  well?" 

"  Oh !  So  —  so !  You  see,  we  haven't  got 
seven  thousand  a  year,  but  we've  got  five 
hundred  each,  and  Jem's  more  interested  in 
hunting  than  in  doctoring.  He  wants  me  to 
go  into  partnership  with  him.  But  I  don't  see 
myself." 

"Ambitious,  eh,  like  I  was?  Got  your  de- 
gree in  Edinburgh?  " 

I  nodded,  but  modestly  disclaimed  being 
ambitious  like  he  was. 

"  And  your  sister  Lilian?  " 

"  She's  keeping  house  for  Jem." 

"  Pretty  girl,  isn't  she?" 

"  Yes,"  I  said  doubtfully.    "  Sings  well,  too." 

"  So  you  cultivate  music  down  there?  " 

"Rather!"  I  said.  "That  is,  Lilian  does, 
and  I  do  when  I'm  with  her.  We're  pretty 
mad  on  it.  I  was  dead  set  on  hearing  Rosetta 
Rosa  in  '  Lohengrin '  to-night,  but  there  isn't 


12  THE   GHOST 

a  seat  to  be  had.  I  suppose  I  shall  push  myself 
into  the  gallery." 

"  No,  you  won't,"  Sullivan  put  in  sharply. 
"  I've  got  a  box.  There'll  be  a  chair  for  you. 
You'll  see  my  wife.  I  should  never  have 
dreamt  of  going.  Wagner  bores  me,  though  I 
must  say  I've  got  a  few  tips  from  him.  But 
when  we  heard  what  a  rush  there  was  for 
seats  Emmeline  thought  we  ought  to  go,  and 
I  never  cross  her  if  I  can  help  it.  I  made  Smart 
give  us  a  box." 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  come,"  I  said. 
"There's  only  one  Smart,  I  suppose?  You 
mean  Sir  Cyril?" 

"  The  same,  my  boy.  Lessee  of  the  Opera, 
lessee  of  the  Diana,  lessee  of  the  Folly,  lessee 
of  the  Ottoman.  If  any  one  knows  the  color 
of  his  cheques  I  reckon  it's  me.  He  made  me 
—  that  I  will  say;  but  I  made  him,  too.  Queer 
fellow!  Awfully  cute  of  him  to  get  elected  to 
the  County  Council.  It  was  through  him  I 
met  my  wife.  Did  you  ever  see  Emmeline 
when  she  was  Sissie  Vox?" 

"  I'm  afraid  I  didn't." 

"  You  missed  a  treat,  old  man.  There  was 
no  one  to  touch  her  in  boys'  parts  in  bur- 
lesque. A  dashed  fine  woman  she  is  —  though 


MY   SPLENDID    COUSIN  13 

I  say  it,  dashed  fine ! "  He  seemed  to  reflect 
a  moment.  "  She's  a  spiritualist.  I  wish  she 
wasn't.  Spiritualism  gets  on  her  nerves.  I've 
no  use  for  it  myself,  but  it's  her  life.  It  gives 
her  fancies.  She  got  some  sort  of  a  silly  no- 
tion —  don't  tell  her  I  said  this,  Carlie  —  about 
Rosetta  Rosa.  Says  she's  unlucky  —  Rosa,  I 
mean.  Wanted  me  to  warn  Smart  against 
engaging  her.  Me!  Imagine  it!  Why,  Rosa 
will  be  the  making  of  this  opera  season! 
She's  getting  a  terrific  salary,  Smart  told 


me." 


"  It's  awfully  decent  of  you  to  offer  me  a 
seat,"  I  began  to  thank  him. 

"  Stuff!  "  he  said.  "  Cost  me  nothing."  A 
clock  struck  softly.  "  Christopher !  it's  half- 
past  twelve,  and  I'm  due  at  the  Diana  at 
twelve.  We're  rehearsing,  you  know." 

We  went  out  of  the  club  arm  in  arm,  Sulli- 
van toying  with  his  eye-glass. 

"Well,  you'll  toddle  round  to-night,  eh? 
Just  ask  for  my  box.  You'll  find  they'll  look 
after  you.  So  long !  " 

He  walked  off. 

"  I  say,"  he  cried,  returning  hastily  on  his 
steps,  and  lowering  his  voice,  "  when  you  meet 
my  wife,  don't  say  anything  about  her  theat- 


14  THE    GHOST 

rical  career.  She  don't  like  it.  She's  a  great 
lady  now.  See?  " 

"  Why,  of  course!  "  I  agreed. 

He  slapped  me  on  the  back  and  departed. 

It  is  easy  to  laugh  at  Sullivan.  I  could  see 
that  even  then  —  perhaps  more  clearly  then 
than  now.  But  I  insist  that  he  was  lovable. 
He  had  little  directly  to  do  with  my  immense 
adventure,  but  without  him  it  could  not  have 
happened.  And  so  I  place  him  in  the  forefront 
of  the  narrative. 


CHAPTER   II 

AT   THE    OPERA 

It  was  with  a  certain  nervousness  that  I 
mentioned  Sullivan's  name  to  the  gentleman 
at  the  receipt  of  tickets  —  a  sort  of  transcend- 
antly  fine  version  of  Keith  Prowse's  clerk  — 
but  Sullivan  had  not  exaggerated  his  own 
importance.  They  did  look  after  me.  They 
looked  after  me  with  such  respectful  diligence 
that  I  might  have  been  excused  for  supposing 
that  they  had  mistaken  me  for  the  Shah  of 
Persia  in  disguise.  I  was  introduced  into  Sul- 
livan's box  with  every  circumstance  of  pomp. 
The  box  was  empty.  Naturally  I  had  arrived 
there  first.  I  sat  down,  and  watched  the  enor- 
mous house  fill,  but  not  until  I  had  glanced 
into  the  mirror  that  hung  on  the  crimson  par- 
tition of  the  box  to  make  sure  that  my  appear- 
ance did  no  discredit  to  Sullivan  and  the  great 
lady,  his  wife. 

At  eight  o'clock,  when  the  conductor  ap- 

15 


16  THE   GHOST 

peared  at  his  desk  to  an  accompaniment  of 
applauding  taps  from  the  musicians,  the  house 
was  nearly  full.  The  four  tiers  sent  forth  a 
sparkle  of  diamonds,  of  silk,  and  of  white  arms 
and  shoulders  which  rivalled  the  glitter  of  the 
vast  crystal  chandelier.  The  wide  floor  of  ser- 
ried stalls  (those  stalls  of  which  one  pair  at 
least  had  gone  for  six  pound  ten)  added  their 
more  sombre  brilliance  to  the  show,  while  far 
above,  stretching  away  indefinitely  to  the  very 
furthest  roof,  was  the  gallery  (where  but  for 
Sullivan  I  should  have  been),  a  mass  of  black 
spotted  with  white  faces. 

Excitement  was  in  the  air:  the  expectation 
of  seeing  once  again  Rosetta  Rosa,  the  girl 
with  the  golden  throat,  the  mere  girl  who,  two 
years  ago,  had  in  one  brief  month  captured 
London,  and  who  now,  after  a  period  of  petu- 
lance, had  decided  to  recapture  London.  On 
ordinary  nights,  for  the  inhabitants  of  boxes, 
the  Opera  is  a  social  observance,  an  exhibition 
of  jewels,  something  between  an  F.  O.  recep- 
tion and  a  conversazione  with  music  in  the  dis- 
tance. But  to-night  the  habitues  confessed  a 
genuine  interest  in  the  stage  itself,  abandoning 
their  role  of  players.  Dozens  of  times  since 
then  have  I  been  to  the  Opera,  and  never  have 


AT    THE    OPERA  17 

I  witnessed  the  candid  enthusiasm  of  that 
night.  If  London  can  be  naive,  it  was  naive 
then. 

The  conductor  raised  his  baton.  The  or- 
chestra ceased  its  tuning.  The  lights  were 
lowered.  Silence  and  stillness  enwrapped  the 
auditorium.  And  the  quivering  violins  sighed 
out  the  first  chords  of  the  "  Lohengrin  "  over- 
ture. For  me,  then,  there  existed  nothing  save 
the  voluptuous  music,  to  which  I  abandoned 
myself  as  to  the  fascination  of  a  dream.  But 
not  for  long.  Just  as  the  curtain  rose,  the  door 
behind  me  gave  a  click,  and  Sullivan  entered 
in  all  his  magnificence.  I  jumped  up.  On 
his  arm  in  the  semi-darkness  I  discerned  a 
tall,  olive-pale  woman,  with  large  handsome 
features  of  Jewish  cast,  and  large,  liquid  black 
eyes.  She  wore  a  dead-white  gown,  and  over 
this  a  gorgeous  cloak  of  purple  and  mauve. 

"  Emmeline,  this  is  Carl/'  Sullivan  whis- 
pered. 

She  smiled  faintly,  giving  me  her  finger-tips, 
and  then  she  suddenly  took  a  step  forward  as 
if  the  better  to  examine  my  face.  Her  strange 
eyes  met  mine.  She  gave  a  little  indefinable 
unnecessary  "  Ah ! "  and  sank  down  into  a 
chair,  loosing  my  hand  swiftly.  I  was  going 


i8  THE    GHOST 

to  say  that  she  loosed  my  hand  as  if  it  had  been 
the  tail  of  a  snake  that  she  had  picked  up  in 
mistake  for  something  else.  But  that  would 
leave  the  impression  that  her  gesture  was 
melodramatic,  which  it  was  not.  Only  there 
was  in  her  demeanor  a  touch  of  the  bizarre, 
ever  so  slight;  yes,  so  slight  that  I  could  not 
be  sure  that  I  had  not  imagined  it. 

"  The  wife's  a  bit  overwrought,"  Sullivan 
murmured  in  my  ear.  "  Nerves,  you  know. 
Women  are  like  that.  Wait  till  you're  mar- 
ried. Take  no  notice.  She'll  be  all  right  soon." 

I  nodded  and  sat  down.  In  a  moment  the 
music  had  resumed  its  sway  over  me. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  first  sight  of  Rosetta 
Rosa  as,  robed  with  the  modesty  which  the 
character  of  Elsa  demands,  she  appeared  on 
the  stage  to  answer  the  accusation  of  Ortrud. 
For  some  moments  she  hesitated  in  the  back- 
ground, and  then  timidly,  yet  with  what  gran- 
deur of  mien,  advanced  towards  the  king.  I 
knew  then,  as  I  know  now,  that  hers  was  a 
loveliness  of  that  imperious,  absolute,  dazzling 
kind  which  banishes  from  the  hearts  of  men 
all  moral  conceptions,  all  considerations  of 
right  and  wrong,  and  leaves  therein  nothing 
but  worship  and  desire.  Her  acting,  as  she 


AT   THE    OPERA  19 

replied  by  gesture  to  the  question  of  the  king, 
was  perfect  in  its  realization  of  the  simplicity 
of  Elsa.  Nevertheless  I,  at  any  rate,  as  I 
searched  her  features  through  the  lorgnon  that 
Mrs.  Sullivan  had  silently  handed  to  me,  could 
descry  beneath  the  actress  the  girl  —  the  spoilt 
and  splendid  child  of  Good  Fortune,  who  in 
the  very  spring  of  youth  had  tasted  the  joy 
of  sovereign  power,  that  unique  and  terrible 
dominion  over  mankind  which  belongs  to 
beauty  alone. 

Such  a  face  as  hers  once  seen  is  engraved 
eternally  on  the  memory  of  its  generation. 
And  yet  when,  in  a  mood  of  lyrical  and  rapt 
ecstasy,  she  began  her  opening  song,  "  In 
Lichter  Waffen  Scheme,"  her  face  was  upon 
the  instant  forgotten.  She  became  a  Voice  — 
pure,  miraculous,  all-compelling;  and  the  lis- 
teners seemed  to  hold  breath  while  the  match- 
less melody  wove  round  them  its  persuasive 

spell. 

•        •••••••• 

The  first  act  was  over,  and  Rosetta  Rosa 
stood  at  the  footlights  bowing  before  the  roll- 
ing and  thunderous  storms  of  applause,  her 
hand  in  the  hand  of  Alresca,  the  Lohengrin. 
That  I  have  not  till  this  moment  mentioned 


20  THE    GHOST 

Alresca,  and  that  I  mention  him  now  merely 
as  the  man  who  happened  to  hold  Rosa's  hand, 
shows  with  what  absolute  sovereignty  Rosa 
had  dominated  the  scene.  For  as  Rosa  was 
among  sopranos,  so  was  Alresca  among  tenors 
—  the  undisputed  star.  Without  other  aid 
Alresca  could  fill  the  opera-house;  did  he  not 
receive  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  night? 
To  put  him  in  the  same  cast  as  Rosa  was  one 
of  Cyril  Smart's  lavish  freaks  of  expense. 

As  these  two  stood  together  Rosetta  Rosa 
smiled  at  him;  he  gave  her  a  timid  glance 
and  looked  away. 

When  the  clapping  had  ceased  and  the  cur- 
tain hid  the  passions  of  the  stage,  I  turned  with 
a  sigh  of  exhaustion  and  of  pleasure  to  my 
hostess,  and  I  was  rather  surprised  to  find  that 
she  showed  not  a  trace  of  the  nervous  excite- 
ment which  had  marked  her  entrance  into  the 
box.  She  sat  there,  an  excellent  imitation  of 
a  woman  of  fashion,  languid,  unmoved,  appar- 
ently a  little  bored,  but  finely  conscious  of 
doing  the  right  thing. 

"  It's  a  treat  to  see  any  one  enjoy  anything 
as  you  enjoy  this  music,"  she  said  to  me.  She 
spoke  well,  perhaps  rather  too  carefully,  and 
with  a  hint  of  the  cockney  accent. 


AT   THE    OPERA  21 

"  It  runs  in  the  family,  you  know,  Mrs. 
Smith,"  I  replied,  blushing  for  the  ingenuous- 
ness which  had  pleased  her. 

"  Don't  call  me  Mrs.  Smith;  call  me  Emme- 
line,  as  we  are  cousins.  I  shouldn't  at  all  like 
it  if  I  mightn't  call  you  Carl.  Carl  is  such 
a  handsome  name,  and  it  suits  you.  Now, 
doesn't  it,  Sully?" 

"  Yes,  darling,"  Sullivan  answered  noncha- 
lantly. He  was  at  the  back  of  the  box,  and 
clearly  it  was  his  benevolent  desire  to  give 
me  fair  opportunity  of  a  tete-a-tete  with  his 
dark  and  languorous  lady.  Unfortunately,  I 
was  quite  unpractised  in  the  art  of  maintaining 
a  tete-a-tete  with  dark  and  languorous  ladies. 
Presently  he  rose. 

"  I  must  look  up  Smart,"  he  said,  and  left  us. 

"  Sullivan  has  been  telling  me  about  you. 
What  a  strange  meeting!  And  so  you  are  a 
doctor!  You  don't  know  how  young  you  look. 
Why,  I  am  old  enough  to  be  your  mother! " 

"  Oh,  no,  you  aren't,"  I  said.  At  any  rate, 
I  knew  enough  to  say  that. 

And  she  smiled. 

"  Personally,"  she  went  on,  "  I  hate  music  — 
loathe  it.  But  it's  Sullivan's  trade,  and,  of 
course,  one  must  come  here." 


22  THE   GHOST 

She  waved  a  jewelled  arm  towards  the  splen- 
did animation  of  the  auditorium. 

"  But  surely,  Emmeline,"  I  cried  protest- 
ingly,  "  you  didn't  '  loathe  '  that  first  act.  I 
never  heard  anything  like  it.  Rosa  was  simply 
—  well,  I  can't  describe  it." 

She  gazed  at  me,  and  a  cloud  of  melancholy 
seemed  to  come  into  her  eyes.  And  after  a 
pause  she  said,  in  the  strangest  tone,  very 
quietly : 

"  You're  in  love  with  her  already." 

And  her  eyes  continued  to  hold  mine. 

"  Who  could  help  it?  "  I  laughed. 

She  leaned  towards  me,  and  her  left  hand 
hung  over  the  edge  of  the  box. 

"  Women  like  Rosetta  Rosa  ought  to  be 
killed ! "  she  said,  with  astonishing  ferocity. 
Her  rich,  heavy  contralto  vibrated  through  me. 
She  was  excited  again,  that  was  evident.  The 
nervous  mood  had  overtaken  her.  The  long 
pendent  lobes  of  her  ears  crimsoned,  and  her 
opulent  bosom  heaved.  I  was  startled.  I  was 
rather  more  than  startled  —  I  was  frightened. 
I  said  to  myself,  "  What  a  peculiar  creature !  " 

"Why?"  I  questioned  faintly. 

"  Because  they  are  too  young,  too  lovely, 
too  dangerous,"  she  responded  with  fierce  em- 


AT    THE    OPERA  23 

phasis.  "  And  as  for  Rosa  in  particular  —  as 
for  Rosa  in  particular  —  if  you  knew  what  I 
knew,  what  I've  seen " 

"  What  have  you  seen?  "  I  was  bewildered. 
I  began  to  wish  that  Sullivan  had  not  aban- 
doned me  to  her. 

"  Perhaps  I'm  wrong/'  she  laughed. 

She  laughed,  and  sat  up  straight  again,  and 
resumed  her  excellent  imitation  of  the  woman 
of  fashion,  while  I  tried  to  behave  as  though  I 
had  found  nothing  singular  in  her  beha- 
vior. 

"  You  know  about  our  reception?  "  she  asked 
vivaciously  in  another  moment,  playing  with 
her  fan. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  don't." 

"Where  have  you  been,  Carl?" 

"  I've  been  in  Edinburgh,"  I  said,  "  for  my 
final." 

"Oh!"  she  said.  "Well,  it's  been  para- 
graphed in  all  the  papers.  Sullivan  is  giving  a 
reception  in  the  Gold  Rooms  of  the  Grand 
Babylon  Hotel.  Of  course,  it  will  be  largely 
theatrical,  —  Sullivan  has  to  mix  a  good  deal 
with  that  class,  you  know;  it's  his  business,  — 
but  there  will  be  a  lot  of  good  people  there. 
You'll  come,  won't  you?  It's  to  celebrate  the 


24  THE    GHOST 

five  hundredth  performance  of  '  My  Queen/ 
Rosetta  Rosa  is  coming." 

"  I  shall  be  charmed.  But  I  should  have 
thought  you  wouldn't  ask  Rosa  after  what 
you've  just  said." 

"  Not  ask  Rosa !  My  dear  Carl,  she  simply 
won't  go  anywhere.  I  know  for  a  fact  she 
declined  Lady  Casterby's  invitation  to  meet  a 
Serene  Highness.  Sir  Cyril  got  her  for  me. 
She'll  be  the  star  of  the  show." 

The  theatre  darkened  once  more.  There 
were  the  usual  preliminaries,  and  the  orchestra 
burst  into  the  prelude  of  the  second  act. 

"  Have  you  ever  done  any  crystal-gazing?" 
Emmeline  whispered. 

And  some  one  on  the  floor  of  the  house 
hissed  for  silence. 

I  shook  my  head. 

'  You  must  try."  Her  voice  indicated  that 
she  was  becoming  excited  again.  "  At  my 
reception  there  will  be  a  spiritualism  room. 
I'm  a  believer,  you  know." 

I  nodded  politely,  leaning  over  the  front  of 
the  box  to  watch  the  conductor. 

Then  she  set  herself  to  endure  the  music. 

Immediately  the  second  act  was  over,  Sulli- 
van returned,  bringing  with  him  a  short,  slight, 


AT   THE   OPERA  25 

bald-headed  man  of  about  fifty.  The  two  were 
just  finishing  a  conversation  on  some  stage 
matter. 

"  Smart,  let  me  introduce  to  you  my  cousin, 
Carl  Foster.  Carl,  this  is  Sir  Cyril  Smart." 

My  first  feeling  was  one  of  surprise  that  a 
man  so  celebrated  should  be  so  insignificant  to 
the  sight.  Yet  as  he  looked  at  me  I  could  some- 
how feel  that  here  was  an  intelligence  some- 
what out  of  the  common.  At  first  he  said  little, 
and  that  little  was  said  chiefly  to  my  cousin's 
wife,  but  there  was  a  quietude  and  firmness  in 
his  speech  which  had  their  own  effect. 

Sir  Cyril  had  small  eyes,  and  small  features 
generally,  including  rather  a  narrow  forehead. 
His  nostrils,  however,  were  well  curved,  and 
his  thin,  straight  lips  and  square  chin  showed 
the  stiffest  determination.  He  looked  fatigued, 
weary,  and  harassed;  yet  it  did  not  appear  that 
he  complained  of  his  lot;  rather  accepted  it 
with  sardonic  humor.  The  cares  of  an  opera 
season  and  of  three  other  simultaneous  man- 
agements weighed  on  him  ponderously,  but  he 
supported  the  burden  with  stoicism. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  Alresca  to- 
night? "  Sullivan  asked.  "  Suffering  the  pangs 
of  jealousy,  I  suppose." 


26  THE    GHOST 

"  Alresca,"  Sir  Cyril  replied,  "  is  the  greatest 
tenor  living,  and  to-night  he  sings  like  a  vari- 
ety comedian.  But  it  is  not  jealousy.  There 
is  one  thing  about  Alresca  that  makes  me 
sometimes  think  he  is  not  an  artist  at  all  —  he 
is  incapable  of  being  jealous.  I  have  known 
hundreds  of  singers,  and  he  is  the  one  solitary 
bird  among  them  of  that  plumage.  No,  it  is 
not  jealousy." 

"Then  what  is  it?" 

"  I  wish  I  knew.  He  asked  me  to  go  and 
dine  with  him  this  afternoon.  You  know  he 
dines  at  four  o'clock.  Of  course,  I  went.  What 
do  you  think  he  wanted  me  to  do  ?  He  actually 
suggested  that  I  should  change  the  bill  to- 
night !  That  showed  me  that  something  really 
was  the  matter,  because  he's  the  most  modest 
and  courteous  man  I  have  ever  known,  and  he 
has  a  horror  of  disappointing  the  public.  I 
asked  him  if  he  was  hoarse.  No.  I  asked  him 
if  he  felt  ill.  No.  But  he  was  extremely  de- 
pressed. 

"  '  I'm  quite  well/  he  said,  '  and  yet ' 

Then  he  stopped.  '  And  yet  what?  J  It  seemed 
as  if  I  couldn't  drag  it  out  of  him.  Then  all 
of  a  sudden  he  told  me.  '  My  dear  Smart,'  he 
said,  '  there  is  a  misfortune  coming  to  me.  I 


AT   THE   OPERA  27 

feel  it.5  That's  just  what  he  said  — '  There's 
a  misfortune  coming  to  me.  I  feel  it.'  He's 
superstitious.  They  all  are.  Naturally,  I  set  to 
work  to  soothe  him.  I  did  what  I  could.  I 
talked  about  his  liver  in  the  usual  way.  But  it 
had  less  than  the  usual  effect.  However,  I  per- 
suaded him  not  to  force  me  to  change  the  bill." 

Mrs.  Sullivan  struck  into  the  conversation. 

"He  isn't  in  love  with  Rosa,  is  he?"  she 
demanded  brusquely. 

"  In  love  with  Rosa?  Of  course  he  isn't,  my 
pet !  "  said  Sullivan. 

The  wife  glared  at  her  husband  as  if  angry, 
and  Sullivan  made  a  comic  gesture  of  despair 
with  his  hands. 

"Is  he?"  Mrs.  Sullivan  persisted,  waiting 
for  Smart's  reply. 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Sir  Cyril 
simply.  "  No ;  I  should  say  not,  decidedly  not. 
.  .  .  He  may  be,  after  all.  I  don't  know.  But 
if  he  were,  that  oughtn't  to  depress  him.  Even 
Rosa  ought  to  be  flattered  by  the  admiration 
of  a  man  like  Alresca.  Besides,  so  far  as  I 
know,  they've  seen  very  little  of  each  other. 
They're  too  expensive  to  sing  together  often. 
There's  only  myself  and  Conried  of  New  York 
who  would  dream  of  putting  them  in  the  same 


28  THE    GHOST 

bill.  I  should  say  they  hadn't  sung  together 
more  than  two  or  three  times  since  the  death 
of  Lord  Clarenceux;  so,  even  if  he  has  been 
making  love  to  her,  she's  scarcely  had  time  to 
refuse  him  —  eh?  " 

"  If  he  has  been  making  love  to  Rosa,"  said 
Mrs.  Sullivan  slowly,  "  whether  she  has  refused 
him  or  not,  it's  a  misfortune  for  him,  that's  all." 

"  Oh,  you  women !  you  women !  "  Sullivan 
smiled.  "  How  fond  you  are  of  each  other." 

Mrs.  Sullivan  disdained  to  reply  to  her 
spouse. 

"  And,  let  me  tell  you,"  she  added,  "  he  has 
been  making  love  to  her." 

The  talk  momentarily  ceased,  and  in  order 
to  demonstrate  that  I  was  not  tongue-tied  in 
v  the  company  of  these  celebrities,  I  ventured  to 
inquire  what  Lord  Clarenceux,  whose  riches 
and  eccentricities  had  reached  even  the  Scot- 
tish newspapers,  had  to  do  with  the  matter. 

"  Lord  Clarenceux  was  secretly  engaged  to 
Rosa  in  Vienna,"  Sir  Cyril  replied.  "  That 
was  about  two  and  a  half  years  ago.  He  died 
shortly  afterwards.  It  was  a  terrible  shock  for 
her.  Indeed,  I  have  always  thought  that  the 
shock  had  something  to  do  with  her  notorious 
quarrel  with  us.  She  isn't  naturally  quarrel- 


AT   THE    OPERA  29 

some,  so  far  as  I  can  judge,  though  really  I 
have  seen  very  little  of  her." 

"  By  the  way,  what  was  the  real  history  of 
that  quarrel?"  said  Sullivan.  "I  only  know 
the  beginning  of  it,  and  I  expect  Carl  doesn't 
know  even  that,  do  you,  Carl  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  murmured  modestly.  "  But  per- 
haps it's  a  State  secret." 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  Sir  Cyril  said,  turning  to 
me.  "  I  first  heard  Rosa  in  Genoa  —  the  opera- 
house  there  is  more  of  a  barn  even  than  this, 
and  a  worse  stage  than  this  used  to  be,  if  that's 
possible.  She  was  nineteen.  Of  course,  I  knew 
instantly  that  I  had  met  with  the  chance  of 
my  life.  In  my  time  I  have  discovered  eleven 
stars,  but  this  was  a  sun.  I  engaged  her  at 
once,  and  she  appeared  here  in  the  following 
July.  She  sang  twelve  times,  and  —  well,  you 
know  the  sensation  there  was.  I  had  offered 
her  twenty  pounds  a  night  in  Genoa,  and  she 
seemed  mighty  enchanted. 

"  After  her  season  here  I  offered  her  two 
hundred  pounds  a  night  for  the  following  year; 
but  Lord  Clarenceux  had  met  her  then,  and  she 
merely  said  she  would  think  it  over.  She 
wouldn't  sign  a  contract.  I  was  annoyed.  My 
motto  is, '  Never  be  annoyed,'  but  I  was.  Next 


30  THE    GHOST 

to  herself,  she  owed  everything  to  me.  She 
went  to  Vienna  to  fulfil  an  engagement,  and 
Lord  Clarenceux  after  her.  I  followed.  I  saw 
her,  and  I  laid  myself  out  to  arrange  terms  of 
peace. 

"  I  have  had  difficulties  with  prime  donne 
before,  scores  of  times.  Yes;  I  have  had 
experience."  He  laughed  sardonically.  "  I 
thought  I  knew  what  to  do.  Generally  a  prima 
donna  has  either  a  pet  dog  or  a  pet  parrot  — 
sopranos  go  in  for  dogs,  contraltos  seem  to 
prefer  parrots.  I  have  made  a  study  of  these 
agreeable  animals,  and  I  have  found  that 
through  them  their  mistresses  can  be  ap- 
proached when  all  other  avenues  are  closed.  I 
can  talk  doggily  to  poodles  in  five  languages, 
and  in  the  art  of  administering  sugar  to  the 
bird  I  am,  I  venture  to  think,  unrivalled.  But 
Rosa  had  no  pets.  And  after  a  week's  negotia- 
tion, I  was  compelled  to  own  myself  beaten. 
It  was  a  disadvantage  to  me  that  she  wouldn't 
lose  her  temper.  She  was  too  polite;  she  really 
was  grateful  for  what  I  had  done  for  her.  She 
gave  me  no  chance  to  work  on  her  feelings. 
But  beyond  all  this  there  was  something 
strange  about  Rosa,  something  I  have  never 
been  able  to  fathom.  She  isn't  a  child  like 


AT   THE    OPERA  31 

most  of  'em.  She's  as  strong-headed  as  I  am 
myself,  every  bit !  " 

He  paused,  as  if  inwardly  working  at  the 
problem. 

"  Well,  and  how  did  you  make  it  up  ?  "  Sulli- 
van asked  briskly. 

(As  for  me,  I  felt  as  if  I  had  come  suddenly 
into  the  centre  of  the  great  world.) 

"  Oh,  nothing  happened  for  a  time.  She 
sang  in  Paris  and  America,  and  took  her 
proper  place  as  the  first  soprano  in  the  world. 
I  did  without  her,  and  managed  very  well. 
Then  early  this  spring  she  sent  her  agent  to 
see  me,  and  offered  to  sing  ten  times  for  three 
thousand  pounds.  They  can't  keep  away  from 
London,  you  know.  New  York  and  Chicago 
are  all  very  well  for  money,  but  if  they  don't 
sing  in  London  people  ask  'em  why.  I  wanted 
to  jump  at  the  offer,  but  I  pretended  not  to  be 
eager.  Up  till  then  she  had  confined  herself  to 
French  operas ;  so  I  said  that  London  wouldn't 
stand  an  exclusively  French  repertoire  from 
any  one,  and  would  she  sing  in  '  Lohengrin.' 
She  would.  I  suggested  that  she  should  open 
with  '  Lohengrin,'  and  she  agreed.  The  price 
was  stiffish,  but  I  didn't  quarrel  with  that.  I 
never  drive  bargains.  She  is  twenty-two  now, 


32  THE    GHOST 

or  twenty-three ;  in  a  few  more  years  she  will 
want  five  hundred  pounds  a  night,  and  I  shall 
have  to  pay  it." 

"  And  how  did  she  meet  you?  " 

"  With  just  the  same  cold  politeness.  And 
I  understand  her  less  than  ever." 

"  She  isn't  English,  I  suppose?  "  I  put  in. 

"  English!  "  Sir  Cyril  ejaculated.  "  No  one 
ever  heard  of  a  great  English  soprano.  Unless 
you  count  Australia  as  England,  and  Australia 
wouldn't  like  that.  No.  That  is  another  of 
her  mysteries.  No  one  knows  where  she 
emerged  from.  She  speaks  English  and  French 
with  absolute  perfection.  Her  Italian  accent 
is  beautiful.  She  talks  German  freely,  but 
badly.  I  have  heard  that  she  speaks  perfect 
Flemish,  —  which  is  curious,  —  but  I  do  not 
know." 

"  Well,"  said  Sullivan,  nodding  his  head, 
"  give  me  the  theatrical  as  opposed  to  the  op- 
eratic star.  The  theatrical  star's  bad  enough, 
and  mysterious  enough,  and  awkward  enough. 
But,  thank  goodness,  she  isn't  polite  —  at  least, 
those  at  the  Diana  aren't.  You  can  speak 
your  mind  to  'em.  And  that  reminds  me, 
Smart,  about  that  costume  of  Effie's  in  the 


AT   THE    OPERA  33 

first  act  of  '  My  Queen/  Of  course  you'll  in- 
sist  " 

"  Don't  talk  your  horrid  shop  now,  Sulli- 
van," his  wife  said;  and  Sullivan  didn't. 

The  prelude  to  the  third  act  was  played,  and 
the  curtain  went  up  on  the  bridal  chamber  of 
Elsa  and  Lohengrin.  Sir  Cyril  Smart  rose  as 
if  to  go,  but  lingered,  eying  the  stage  as  a 
general  might  eye  a  battle-field  from  a  neigh- 
boring hill.  The  music  of  the  two  processions 
was  heard  approaching  from  the  distance. 
Then,  to  the  too  familiar  strains  of  the  wed- 
ding march,  the  ladies  began  to  enter  on  the 
right,  and  the  gentlemen  on  the  left.  Elsa  ap- 
peared amid  her  ladies,  but  there  was  no 
Lohengrin  in  the  other  crowd.  The  double 
chorus  proceeded,  and  then  a  certain  excite- 
ment was  visible  on  the  stage,  and  the  con- 
ductor made  signs  with  his  left  hand. 

"  Smart,  what's  wrong  ?  Where's  Alresca  ?  " 
It  was  Sullivan  who  spoke. 

"He'll  sail  in  all  right,"  Sir  Cyril  said 
calmly.  "  Don't  worry." 

The  renowned  impresario  had  advanced 
nearer  to  the  front  of  our  box,  and  was  stand- 
ing immediately  behind  my  chair.  My  heart 
was  beating  violently  with  apprehension  under 


34  THE   GHOST 

my  shirt-front.  Where  was  Alresca?  It  was 
surely  impossible  that  he  should  fail  to  appear ! 
But  he  ought  to  have  been  on  the  stage,  and 
he  was  not  on  the  stage.  I  stole  a  glance  at 
Sir  Cyril's  face.  It  was  Napoleonic  in  its  im- 
passivity. 

And  I  said  to  myself: 

"  He  is  used  to  this  kind  of  thing.  Naturally 
slips  must  happen  sometimes." 

Still,  I  could  not  control  my  excitement. 

Emmeline's  hand  was  convulsively  clutching 
at  the  velvet-covered  balustrade  of  the  box. 

"  It'll  be  all  right,"  I  repeated  to  myself. 

But  when  the  moment  came  for  the  king  to 
bless  the  bridal  pair,  and  there  was  no  Lohen- 
grin to  bless,  even  the  impassive  Sir  Cyril 
seemed  likely  to  be  disturbed,  and  you  could 
hear  murmurs  of  apprehension  from  all  parts 
of  the  house.  The  conductor,  however,  went 
doggedly  on,  evidently  hoping  for  the  best. 

At  last  the  end  of  the  procession  was  leaving 
the  stage,  and  Elsa  was  sitting  on  the  bed 
alone.  Still  no  Lohengrin.  The  violins  arrived 
at  the  muted  chord  of  B  flat,  which  is  Lohen- 
grin's cue.  They  hung  on  it  for  a  second,  and 
then  the  conductor  dropped  his  baton.  A  bell 
rang.  The  curtain  descended.  The  lights 


AT    THE    OPERA  35 

were  turned  up,  and  there  was  a  swift  loosing 
of  tongues  in  the  house.  People  were  pointing 
to  Sir  Cyril  in  our  box.  As  for  him,  he  seemed 
to  be  the  only  unmoved  person  in  the  audience. 

"  That's  never  occurred  before  in  my  time/' 
he  said.  "  Alresca  was  not  mistaken.  Some- 
thing has  happened.  I  must  go." 

But  he  did  not  go.  And  I  perceived  that, 
though  the  calm  of  his  demeanor  was  unim- 
paired, this  unprecedented  calamity  had  com- 
pletely robbed  him  of  his  power  of  initiative. 
He  could  not  move.  He  was  nonplussed. 

The  door  of  the  box  opened,  and  an  official 
with  a  blazing  diamond  in  his  shirt-front 
entered  hurriedly. 

"What  is  it,  Nolan?" 

"  There's  been  an  accident  to  Monsieur  Al- 
resca, Sir  Cyril,  and  they  want  a  doctor." 

It  was  the  chance  of  a  lifetime!  I  ought  to 
have  sprung  up  and  proudly  announced,  "  I'm 
a  doctor."  But  did  I?  No!  I  was  so  timid, 
I  was  so  unaccustomed  to  being  a  doctor,  that 
I  dared  not  for  the  life  of  me  utter  a  word. 
It  was  as  if  I  was  almost  ashamed  of  being  a 
doctor.  I  wonder  if  my  state  of  mind  will  be 
understood. 

"  Carl's  a  doctor,"  said  Sullivan. 


36  THE    GHOST 

How  I  blushed! 

"  Are  you?  "  said  Sir  Cyril,  suddenly  emerg- 
ing from  his  condition  of  suspended  activity. 
"  I  never  guessed  it.  Come  along  with  us,  will 
you?" 

'  With  pleasure,"  I  answered  as  briskly  as 
I  could. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE    CRY    OF   ALRESCA 

As  I  left  the  box  in  the  wake  of  Sir  Cyril  and 
Mr.  Nolan,  Sullivan  jumped  up  to  follow  us, 
and  the  last  words  I  heard  were  from  Emme- 
line. 

"  Sullivan,  stay  here.  You  shall  not  go  near 
that  woman,"  she  exclaimed  in  feverish  and 
appealing  tones:  excitement  had  once  more 
overtaken  her.  And  Sullivan  stayed. 

"  Berger  here?"  Sir  Cyril  asked  hurriedly 
of  Nolan. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Send  some  one  for  him.  I'll  get  him  to 
take  Alresca's  part.  He'll  have  to  sing  it  in 
French,  but  that  won't  matter.  We'll  make  a 
new  start  at  the  duet." 

"But  Rosa?"  said  Nolan. 

"  Rosa!    She's  not  hurt,  is  she?  " 

"  No,  sir.     But  she's  upset." 

"  What  the  devil  is  she  upset  about?  " 

37 


38  THE    GHOST 

'  The  accident.  She's  practically  useless. 
We  shall  never  persuade  her  to  sing  again 
to-night/' 

"  Oh,  damn ! "  Sir  Cyril  exclaimed.  And 
then  quite  quietly :  "  Well,  run  and  tell  'em, 
then.  Shove  yourself  in  front  of  the  curtain, 
my  lad,  and  make  a  speech.  Say  it's  nothing 
serious,  but  just  sufficient  to  stop  the  perform- 
ance. Apologize,  grovel,  flatter  'em,  appeal 
to  their  generosity  —  you  know." 

"  Yes,  Sir  Cyril." 

And  Nolan  disappeared  on  his  mission  of 
appeasing  the  audience. 

We  had  traversed  the  flagged  corridor.  Sir 
Cyril  opened  a  narrow  door  at  the  end. 

"  Follow  me,"  he  called  out.  "  This  passage 
is  quite  dark,  but  quite  straight." 

It  was  not  a  passage;  it  was  a  tunnel.  I 
followed  the  sound  of  his  footsteps,  my  hands 
outstretched  to  feel  a  wall  on  either  side.  It 
seemed  a  long  way,  but  suddenly  we  stepped 
into  twilight.  There  was  a  flight  of  steps 
which  we  descended,  and  at  the  foot  of  the 
steps  a  mutilated  commissionaire,  ornamented 
with  medals,  on  guard. 

"Where  is  Monsieur  Alresca?"  Sir  Cyril 
demanded. 


THE    CRY    OF   ALRESCA          39 

"  Behind  the  back-cloth,  where  he  fell,  sir/' 
answered  the  commissionaire,  saluting. 

I  hurried  after  Sir  Cyril,  and  found  myself 
amid  a  most  extraordinary  scene  of  noise  and 
confusion  on  the  immense  stage.  The  entire 
personnel  of  the  house  seemed  to  be  present: 
a  crowd  apparently  consisting  of  thousands  of 
people,  and  which  really  did  comprise  some 
hundreds.  Never  before  had  I  had  such  a  clear 
conception  of  the  elaborate  human  machinery 
necessary  to  the  production  of  even  a  com- 
paratively simple  lyric  work  like  "  Lohen- 
grin." Richly  clad  pages  and  maids  of  honor, 
all  white  and  gold  and  rouge,  mingled  with 
shirt-sleeved  carpenters  and  scene-shifters  in 
a  hysterical  rabble;  chorus-masters,  footmen 
in  livery,  loungers  in  evening  dress,  girls  in 
picture  hats,  members  of  the  orchestra  with 
instruments  under  their  arms,  and  even  chil- 
dren, added  variety  to  the  throng.  And, 
round  about,  gigantic  "  flats "  of  wood  and 
painted  canvas  rose  to  the  flies,  where  their 
summits  were  lost  in  a  maze  of  ropes  and  pul- 
leys. Beams  of  light,  making  visible  great 
clouds  of  dust,  shot  forth  from  hidden  sources. 
Voices  came  down  from  the  roof,  and  from  far 


40  THE    GHOST 

below  ascended  the  steady  pulsation  of  a  dy- 
namo. I  was  bewildered. 

Sir  Cyril  pushed  ahead,  without  saying  a 
word,  without  even  remonstrating  when  his 
minions  omitted  to  make  way  for  him.  Right 
at  the  back  of  the  stage,  and  almost  in  the 
centre,  the  crowd  was  much  thicker.  And  at 
last,  having  penetrated  it,  we  came  upon  a 
sight  which  I  am  not  likely  to  forget.  Rosa, 
in  all  the  splendor  of  the  bridal  costume,  had 
passed  her  arms  under  Alresca's  armpits,  and 
so  raised  his  head  and  shoulders  against  her 
breast.  She  was  gazing  into  the  face  of  the 
spangled  knight,  and  the  tears  were  falling 
from  her  eyes  into  his. 

"  My  poor  Alresca!  My  poor  Alresca!  "  she 
kept  murmuring. 

Pressing  on  these  two  were  a  distinguished 
group  consisting  of  the  King,  the  Herald,  Or- 
trud,  Telramund,  and  several  more.  And 
Ortrud  was  cautiously  feeling  Alresca's  limbs 
with  her  jewel-laden  fingers.  I  saw  instantly 
that  Alresca  was  unconscious. 

"  Please  put  him  down,  mademoiselle." 

These  were  the  first  words  that  I  ever  spoke 
to  Rosetta  Rosa,  and,  out  of  sheer  acute  nerv- 
ousness, I  uttered  them  roughly,  in  a  tone  of 


THE    CRY    OF   ALRESCA          41 

surly  command.  I  was  astonished  at  myself. 
I  was  astonished  at  my  own  voice.  She 
glanced  up  at  me  and  hesitated.  No  doubt  she 
was  unaccustomed  to  such  curt  orders. 

"  Please  put  him  down  at  once,"  I  repeated, 
trying  to  assume  a  bland,  calm,  professional, 
authoritative  manner,  and  not  in  the  least  suc- 
ceeding. "  It  is  highly  dangerous  to  lift  an 
unconscious  person  from  a  recumbent  posi- 
tion." 

Why  I  should  have  talked  like  an  article  in 
a  medical  dictionary  instead  of  like  a  human 
being  I  cannot  imagine. 

"  This  is  a  doctor  —  Mr.  Carl  Foster,"  Sir 
Cyril  explained  smoothly,  and  she  laid  Alres- 
ca's  head  gently  on  the  bare  planks  of  the 
floor. 

"  Will  every  one  kindly  stand  aside,  and  I 
will  examine  him."  . 

No  one  moved.  The  King  continued  his 
kingly  examination  of  the  prone  form.  Not 
a  fold  of  Ortrud's  magnificent  black  robe  was 
disturbed.  Then  Sir  Cyril  translated  my  re- 
quest into  French  and  into  German,  and  these 
legendary  figures  of  the  Middle  Ages  with- 
drew a  little,  fixing  themselves  with  difficulty 
into  the  common  multitude  that  pressed  on 


42  THE    GHOST 

them  from  without.  I  made  them  retreat  still 
further.  Rosetta  Rosa  moved  gravely  to  one 
side. 

Almost  immediately  Alresca  opened  his 
eyes,  and  murmured  faintly,  "  My  thigh." 

I  knelt  down,  but  not  before  Rosa  had 
sprung  forward  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and 
kneeling  close  by  my  side  had  clasped  his 
hand.  I  tried  to  order  her  away,  but  my 
tongue  could  not  form  the  words.  I  could 
only  look  at  her  mutely,  and  there  must  have 
been  an  effective  appeal  in  my  eyes,  for  she  got 
up,  nodding  an  acquiescence,  and  stood  silent 
and  tense  a  yard  from  Alresca's  feet.  With  a 
violent  effort  I  nerved  myself  to  perform  my 
work.  The  voice  of  Nolan,  speaking  to  the 
audience,  and  then  a  few  sympathetic  cheers, 
came  vaguely  from  the  other  side  of  the  big 
curtain,  and  then  the  orchestra  began  to  play 
the  National  Anthem. 

The  left  thigh  was  broken  near  the  knee- 
joint.  So  much  I  ascertained  at  once.  As  I 
manipulated  the  limb  to  catch  the  sound  of 
the  crepitus  the  injured  man  screamed,  and  he 
was  continually  in  very  severe  pain.  He  did 
not,  however,  again  lose  consciousness. 

"  I  must  have  a  stretcher,  and  he  must  be 


THE    CRY    OF   ALRESCA          43 

carried  to  a  room.  I  can't  do  anything  here," 
I  said  to  Sir  Cyril.  "  And  you  had  better  send 
for  a  first-rate  surgeon.  Sir  Francis  Shorter 
would  do  very  well  —  102  Manchester  Square, 
I  think  the  address  is.  Tell  him  it's  a  broken 
thigh.  It  will  be  a  serious  case." 

"  Let  me  send  for  my  doctor  —  Professor 
Eugene  Churt,"  Rosa  said.  "  No  one  could  be 
more  skilful." 

"  Pardon  me,"  I  protested,  "  Professor 
Churt  is  a  physician  of  great  authority,  but 
he  is  not  a  surgeon,  and  here  he  would  be  use- 
less." 

She  bowed  —  humbly,  as  I  thought. 

With  such  materials  as  came  to  hand  I 
bound  Alresca's  legs  together,  making  as 
usual  the  sound  leg  fulfil  the  function  of  a 
splint  to  the  other  one,  and  he  was  placed  on 
a  stretcher.  It  was  my  first  case,  and  it  is 
impossible  for  me  to  describe  my  shyness  and 
awkwardness  as  the  men  who  were  to  carry 
the  stretcher  to  the  dressing-room  looked  si- 
lently to  me  for  instructions. 

"  Now,"  I  said,  "  take  short  steps,  keep  your 
knees  bent,  but  don't  on  any  account  keep  step. 
As  gently  as  you  can  —  all  together  —  lift." 

Rosa   followed   the   little   procession   as    it 


44  THE    GHOST 

slowly  passed  through  the  chaotic  anarchy  of 
the  stage.  Alresca  was  groaning,  his  eyes 
closed.  Suddenly  he  opened  them,  and  it 
seemed  as  though  he  caught  sight  of  her  for 
the  first  time.  He  lifted  his  head,  and  the 
sweat  stood  in  drops  on  his  brow. 

"  Send  her  away ! "  he  cried  sharply,  in  an 
agony  which  was  as  much  mental  as  physical. 
"  She  is  fatal  to  me/' 

The  bearers  stopped  in  alarm  at  this  start- 
ling outburst;  but  I  ordered  them  forward, 
and  turned  to  Rosa.  She  had  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands,  and  was  sobbing. 

"  Please  go  away,"  I  said.  "  It  is  very  im- 
portant he  should  not  be  agitated." 

Without  quite  intending  to  do  so,  I  touched 
her  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Alresca  doesn't  mean  that ! "  she  stam- 
mered. 

Her  blue  eyes  were  fixed  on  me,  luminous 
through  her  tears,  and  I  feasted  on  all  the 
lovely  curves  of  that  incomparable  oval  which 
was  her  face. 

"  I  am  sure  he  doesn't,"  I  answered.  "  But 
you  had  better  go,  hadn't  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  will  go/' 


THE    CRY   OF   ALRESCA          45 

"  Forgive  my  urgency,"  I  murmured.  Then 
she  drew  back  and  vanished  in  the  throng. 

In  the  calm  of  the  untidy  dressing-room, 
with  the  aid  of  Alresca's  valet,  I  made  my  pa- 
tient as  comfortable  as  possible  on  a  couch. 
And  then  I  had  one  of  the  many  surprises  of 
my  life.  The  door  opened,  and  old  Toddy 
entered.  No  inhabitant  of  the  city  of  Edin- 
burgh would  need  explanations  on  the  subject 
of  Toddy  MacWhister.  The  first  surgeon  of 
Scotland,  his  figure  is  familiar  from  one  end  of 
the  town  to  the  other  —  and  even  as  far  as 
Leith  and  Portobello.  I  trembled.  And  my 
reason  for  trembling  was  that  the  celebrated 
bald  expert  had  quite  recently  examined  me 
for  my  Final  in  surgery.  On  that  dread  occa- 
sion I  had  made  one  bad  blunder,  so  ridiculous 
that  Toddy's  mood  had  passed  suddenly  from 
grim  ferociousness  to  wild  northern  hilarity. 
I  think  I  am  among  the  few  persons  in  the 
world  who  have  seen  and  heard  Toddy  Mac- 
Whister laugh. 

I  hoped  that  he  would  not  remember  me, 
but,  like  many  great  men,  he  had  a  discon- 
certingly good  memory  for  faces. 

"  Ah!  "  he  said,  "  I've  seen  ye  before." 

"  You  have,  sir." 


46  THE    GHOST 

"  You  are  the  callant  who  told  me  that  the 
medulla  oblongata " 

"  Please "  I  entreated. 

Perhaps  he  would  not  have  let  me  off  had 
not  Sir  Cyril  stood  immediately  behind  him. 
The  impresario  explained  that  Toddy  Mac- 
Whister  (the  impresario  did  not  so  describe 
him)  had  been  in  the  audience,  and  had  offered 
his  services. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Toddy,  approaching 
Alresca. 

"  Fracture  of  the  femur." 

"  Simple,  of  course." 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  so  far  as  I  can  judge,  of  a 
somewhat  peculiar  nature.  I've  sent  round  to 
King's  College  Hospital  for  splints  and  ban- 
dages." 

Toddy  took  off  his  coat. 

"We  sha'n't  need  ye,  Sir  Cyril,"  said  he 
casually. 

And  Sir  Cyril  departed. 

In  an  hour  the  limb  was  set  —  a  masterly 
display  of  skill  —  and,  except  to  give  orders, 
Toddy  had  scarcely  spoken  another  word.  As 
he  was  washing  his  hands  in  a  corner  of  the 
dressing-room  he  beckoned  to  me. 

"How  was  it  caused?"  he  whispered. 


THE    CRY    OF   ALRESCA          47 

"  No  one  seems  to  know,  sir." 

"  Doesn't  matter  much,  anyway !  Let  him 
lie  a  wee  bit,  and  then  get  him  home.  Ye'll 
have  no  trouble  with  him,  but  there'll  be  no 
more  warbling  and  cutting  capers  for  him  this 
yet  awhile." 

And  Toddy,  too,  went.  He  had  showed  not 
the  least  curiosity  as  to  Alresca's  personality, 
and  I  very  much  doubt  whether  he  had  taken 
the  trouble  to  differentiate  between  the  finest 
tenor  in  Europe  and  a  chorus-singer.  For 
Toddy,  Alresca  was  simply  an  individual  who 
sang  and  cut  capers. 

I  made  the  necessary  dispositions  for  the 
transport  of  Alresca  in  an  hour's  time  to  his 
flat  in  the  Devonshire  Mansion,  and  then  I  sat 
down  near  him.  He  was  white  and  weak,  but 
perfectly  conscious.  He  had  proved  himself 
to  be  an  admirable  patient.  Even  in  the  very 
crisis  of  the  setting  his  personal  distinction 
and  his  remarkable  and  finished  politeness  had 
suffered  no  eclipse.  And  now  he  lay  there, 
with  his  silky  mustache  disarranged  and  his 
hair  damp,  exactly  as  I  had  once  seen  him  on 
the  couch  in  the  garden  by  the  sea  in  the  third 
act  of  "  Tristan,"  the  picture  of  nobility.  He 
could  not  move,  for  the  sufficient  reason  that 


48  THE    GHOST 

a  strong  splint  ran  from  his  armpit  to  his 
ankle,  but  his  arms  were  free,  and  he  raised 
his  left  hand,  and  beckoned  me  with  an  irre- 
sistible gesture  to  come  quite  close  to  him. 

I  smiled  encouragingly  and  obeyed. 

"  My  kind  friend,"  he  murmured,  "  I  know 
not  your  name." 

His  English  was  not  the  English  of  an  Eng- 
lishman, but  it  was  beautiful  in  its  exotic 
quaintness. 

"  My  name  is  Carl  Foster,"  I  said.  "  It  will 
be  better  for  you  not  to  talk." 

He  made  another  gesture  of  protest  with 
that  wonderful  left  hand  of  his. 

"  Monsieur  Foster,  I  must  talk  to  Mademoi- 
selle Rosa." 

"  Impossible,"  I  replied.  "  It  really  is  essen- 
tial that  you  should  keep  quiet." 

"  Kind  friend,  grant  me  this  wish.  When  I 
have  seen  her  I  shall  be  better.  It  will  do  me 
much  good." 

There  was  such  a  desire  in  his  eyes,  such  a 
persuasive  plaintiveness  in  his  voice,  that, 
against  my  judgment,  I  yielded. 

"  Very  well,"  I  said.  "  But  I  am  afraid  I  can 
only  let  you  see  her  for  five  minutes." 


THE    CRY    OF   ALRESCA          49 

The  hand  waved  compliance,  and  I  told  the 
valet  to  go  and  inquire  for  Rosa. 

"  She  is  here,  sir,"  said  the  valet  on  opening 
the  door.  I  jumped  up.  There  she  was, 
standing  on  the  door-mat  in  the  narrow  pas- 
sage! Yet  I  had  been  out  of  the  room  twice, 
once  to  speak  to  Sir  Cyril  Smart,  and  once  to 
answer  an  inquiry  from  my  cousin  Sullivan, 
and  I  had  not  seen  her. 

She  was  still  in  the  bridal  costume  of  Elsa, 
and  she  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  permission 
to  enter.  I  went  outside  to  her,  closing  the 
door. 

"  Sir  Cyril  would  not  let  me  come,"  she  said. 
"  But  I  have  escaped  him.  I  was  just  wonder- 
ing if  I  dared  peep  in.  How  is  he?  " 

"  He  is  getting  on  splendidly,"  I  answered. 
"  And  he  wants  to  have  a  little  chat  with  you." 

"And  may  he?" 

"  If  you  will  promise  to  be  very,  very  ordi- 
nary, and  not  to  excite  him." 

"  I  promise,"  she  said  with  earnestness. 

"  Remember,"  I  added,  "  quite  a  little,  tiny 
chat!" 

She  nodded  and  went  in,  I  following.  Upon 
catching  sight  of  her,  Alresca's  face  broke  into 
an  exquisite,  sad  smile.  Then  he  gave  his 


SO  THE   GHOST 

valet  a  glance,  and  the  valet  crept  from  the 
room.  I,  as  in  professional  duty  bound,  re- 
mained. The  most  I  could  do  was  to  retire  as 
far  from  the  couch,  and  pretend  to  busy  myself 
with  the  rolling  up  of  spare  bandages. 

"  My  poor  Rosa,"  I  heard  Alresca  begin. 

The  girl  had  dropped  to  her  knees  by  his 
side,  and  taken  his  hand. 

"  How  did  it  happen,  Alresca?    Tell  me." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you !  I  saw  —  saw  some- 
thing, and  I  fell,  and  caught  my  leg  against 
some  timber,  and  I  don't  remember  any  more." 

"Saw  something?    What  did  you  see?" 

There  was  a  silence. 

"  Were  you  frightened  ?  "  Rosa  continued 
softly. 

Then  another  silence. 

"  Yes,"  said  Alresca  at  length,  "  I  was 
frightened." 

"What  was  it?" 

"  I  say  I  cannot  tell  you.    I  do  not  know." 

"  You  are  keeping  something  from  me,  Al- 
resca," she  exclaimed  passionately. 

I  was  on  the  point  of  interfering  in  order  to 
bring  the  colloquy  to  an  end,  but  I  hesitated. 
They  appeared  to  have  forgotten  that  I  was 
there. 


THE    CRY   OF   ALRESCA          51 

"  How  so?  "  said  Alresca  in  a  curious  whis- 
per. "  I  have  nothing  to  keep  from  you,  my 
dear  child." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  you  are  keeping  some- 
thing from  me.  This  afternoon  you  told  Sir 
Cyril  that  you  were  expecting  a  misfortune. 
Well,  the  misfortune  has  occurred  to  you. 
How  did  you  guess  that  it  was  coming? 
Then,  to-night,  as  they  were  carrying  you 
away  on  that  stretcher,  do  you  remember 
what  you  said  ?  " 

"What  did  I  say?" 

"  You  remember,  don't  you?  "  Rosa  faltered. 

"  I  remember,"  he  admitted.  "  But  that  was 
nonsense.  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  saying. 
My  poor  Rosa,  I  was  delirious.  And  that  is 
just  why  I  wished  to  see  you  —  in  order  to 
explain  to  you  that  that  was  nonsense.  You 
must  forget  what  I  said.  Remember  only  that 
I  love  you." 

("So  Emmeline  was  right,"  I  reflected.) 

Abruptly  Rosa  stood  up. 

"  You  must  not  love  me,  Alresca,"  she  said 
in  a  shaking  voice.  "  You  ask  me  to  forget 
something;  I  will  try.  You,  too,  must  forget 
something  —  your  love." 

"  But  last  night,"  he  cried,  in  accents  of  an 


52  THE    GHOST 

almost  intolerable  pathos  —  "  last  night,  when 
I  hinted  —  you  did  not  —  did  not  speak  like 
this,  Rosetta." 

I  rose.  I  had  surely  no  alternative  but  to 
separate  them.  If  I  allowed  the  interview  to 
be  prolonged  the  consequences  to  my  patient 
might  be  extremely  serious.  Yet  again  I  hesi- 
tated. It  was  the  sound  of  Rosa's  sobbing 
that  arrested  me. 

Once  more  she  dropped  to  her  knees. 

"Alresca!"  she  moaned. 

He  seized  her  hand  and  kissed  it. 

And  then  I  came  forward,  summoning  all 
my  courage  to  assert  the  doctor's  authority. 
And  in  the  same  instant  Alresca's  features, 
which  had  been  the  image  of  intense  joy, 
wholly  changed  their  expression,  and  were 
transformed  into  the  embodiment  of  fear. 
With  a  look  of  frightful  terror  he  pointed  with 
one  white  hand  to  the  blank  wall  opposite. 
He  tried  to  sit  up,  but  the  splint  prevented 
him.  Then  his  head  fell  back. 

"It  is  there!"  he  moaned.  "Fatal!  My 
Rosa " 

The  words  died  in  his  mouth,  and  he 
swooned. 

As  for  Rosetta  Rosa,  I  led  her  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER   IV 
ROSA'S  SUMMONS 

Every  one  knows  the  Gold  Rooms  at  the 
Grand  Babylon  on  the  Embankment.  They 
are  immense,  splendid,  and  gorgeous;  they 
possess  more  gold  leaf  to  the  square  inch  than 
any  music-hall  in  London.  They  were  de- 
signed to  throw  the  best  possible  light  on 
humanity  in  the  mass,  to  illuminate  effectively 
not  only  the  shoulders  of  women,  but  also  the 
sombreness  of  men's  attire.  Not  a  tint  on 
their  walls  that  has  not  been  profoundly  stud- 
ied and  mixed  and  laid  with  a  view  to  the 
great  aim.  Wherefore,  when  the  electric  clus- 
ters glow  in  the  ceiling,  and  the  "  after-din- 
ner "  band  (that  unique  corporation  of  British 
citizens  disguised  as  wild  Hungarians) 
breathes  and  pants  out  its  after-dinner  melo- 
dies from  the  raised  platform  in  the  main 
salon,  people  regard  this  coup  d'oeil  with  awe, 
and  feel  glad  that  they  are  in  the  dazzling 
picture,  and  even  the  failures  who  are  there 

53 


54  THE   GHOST 

imagine  that  they  have  succeeded.  Where- 
fore, also,  the  Gold  Rooms  of  the  Grand  Baby- 
lon are  expensive,  and  only  philanthropic  soci- 
eties, plutocrats,  and  the  Titans  of  the  theat- 
rical world  may  persuade  themselves  that  they 
can  afford  to  engage  them. 

It  was  very  late  when  I  arrived  at  my  cousin 
Sullivan's  much  advertised  reception.  I  had 
wished  not  to  go  at  all,  simply  because  I  was 
inexperienced  and  nervous;  but  both  he  and 
his  wife  were  so  good-natured  and  so  obvi- 
ously anxious  to  be  friendly,  that  I  felt  bound 
to  appear,  if  only  for  a  short  time.  As  I  stood 
in  the  first  room,  looking  vaguely  about  me  at 
the  lively  throng  of  resplendent  actresses  who 
chattered  and  smiled  so  industriously  and  with 
such  abundance  of  gesture  to  the  male  ac- 
quaintances who  surrounded  them,  I  said  to 
myself  that  I  was  singularly  out  of  place  there. 

I  didn't  know  a  soul,  and  the  stream  of  arri- 
vals having  ceased,  neither  Sullivan  nor  Em- 
meline  was  immediately  visible.  The  moving 
picture  was  at  once  attractive  and  repellent  to 
me.  It  became  instantly  apparent  that  the 
majority  of  the  men  and  women  there  had  but 
a  single  interest  in  life,  that  of  centring  atten- 
tion upon  themselves ;  and  their  various  meth- 


ROSA'S   SUMMONS  55 

ods  of  reaching  this  desirable  end  were  curious 
and  wonderful  in  the  extreme.  For  all  prac- 
tical purposes,  they  were  still  on  the  boards 
which  they  had  left  but  an  hour  or  two  before. 
It  seemed  as  if  they  regarded  the  very  orches- 
tra in  the  light  of  a  specially  contrived  accom- 
paniment to  their  several  actions  and  move- 
ments. As  they  glanced  carelessly  at  me,  I 
felt  that  they  held  me  as  a  foreigner,  as  one 
outside  that  incredible  little  world  of  theirs 
which  they  call  "  the  profession."  And  so  I 
felt  crushed,  with  a  faint  resemblance  to  a 
worm.  You  see,  I  was  young. 

I  walked  through  towards  the  main  salon, 
and  in  the  doorway  between  the  two  rooms  I 
met  a  girl  of  striking  appearance,  who  was 
followed  by  two  others.  I  knew  her  face  well, 
having  seen  it  often  in  photograph  shops;  it 
was  the  face  of  Marie  Deschamps,  the  popular 
divette  of  the  Diana  Theatre,  the  leading  lady 
of  Sullivan's  long-lived  musical  comedy,  "  My 
Queen."  I  needed  no  second  glance  to  con- 
vince me  that  Miss  Deschamps  was  a  very 
important  personage  indeed,  and,  further,  that 
a  large  proportion  of  her  salary  of  seventy- 
five  pounds  a  week  was  expended  in  the  suits 
and  trappings  of  triumph.  If  her  dress  did 


56  THE    GHOST 

not  prove  that  she  was  on  the  topmost  bough 
of  the  tree,  then  nothing  could.  Though  that 
night  is  still  recent  history,  times  have 
changed.  Divettes  could  do  more  with  three 
hundred  a  month  then  than  they  can  with 
eight  hundred  now. 

As  we  passed  she  examined  me  with  a  curi- 
osity whose  charm  was  its  frankness.  Of 
course,  she  put  me  out  of  countenance,  par- 
ticularly when  she  put  her  hand  on  my  sleeve. 
Divettes  have  the  right  to  do  these  things. 

"  I  know  who  you  are,"  she  said,  laughing 
and  showing  her  teeth.  "  You  are  dear  old 
Sully's  cousin;  he  pointed  you  out  to  me  the 
other  night  when  you  were  at  the  Diana. 
Now,  don't  say  you  aren't,  or  I  shall  look  such 
a  fool;  and  for  goodness'  sake  don't  say  you 
don't  know  me  —  because  every  one  knows 
me,  and  if  they  don't  they  ought  to." 

I  was  swept  away  by  the  exuberance  of  her 
attack,  and,  blushing  violently,  I  took  the 
small  hand  which  she  offered,  and  assured  her 
that  I  was  in  fact  Sullivan  Smith's  cousin,  and 
her  sincere  admirer. 

"  That's  all  right,"  she  said,  raising  her 
superb  shoulders  after  a  special  manner  of 
her  own.  "  Now  you  shall  take  me  to  Sulli- 


ROSA'S  SUMMONS  57 

van,  and  he  shall  introduce  us.  Any  friend  of 
dear  old  Sully's  is  a  friend  of  mine.  How  do 
you  like  my  new  song?  " 

"  What  new  song?  "  I  inquired  incautiously. 

"  Why,  '  Who  milked  the  cow? '  of  course." 

I  endeavored  to  give  her  to  understand  that 
it  had  made  an  indelible  impression  on  me; 
and  with  such  like  converse  we  went  in  search 
of  Sullivan,  while  every  one  turned  to  observe 
the  unknown  shy  young  man  who  was  escort- 
ing Marie  Deschamps. 

"  Here  he  is,"  my  companion  said  at  length, 
as  we  neared  the  orchestra,  "  listening  to  the 
band.  He  should  have  a  band,  the  little  dear! 
Sullivan,  introduce  me  to  your  cousin." 

"  Charmed  —  delighted."  And  Sullivan 
beamed  with  pleasure.  "  Ah,  my  young 
friend,"  he  went  on  to  me,  "  you  know  your 
way  about  fairly  well.  But  there!  medical 
students  —  they're  all  alike.  Well,  what  do 
you  think  of  the  show?  " 

"  Hasn't  he  done  it  awfully  well,  Mr.  Fos- 
ter?" said  Miss  Deschamps. 

I  said  that  I  should  rather  think  he  had. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Sullivan,  becoming  grave 
and  dropping  his  voice,  "  there  are  four  hun- 
dred invitations,  and  it'll  cost  me  seven  hun- 


58  THE   GHOST 

dred  and  fifty  pounds.  But  it  pays.  You 
know  that,  don't  you,  Marie?  Look  at  the 
advertisement!  And  I've  got  a  lot  of  news- 
paper chaps  here.  It'll  be  in  every  paper  to- 
morrow. I  reckon  I've  done  this  thing  on  the 
right  lines.  It's  only  a  reception,  of  course, 
but  let  me  tell  you  I've  seen  after  the  refresh- 
ments —  not  snacks  —  refreshments,  mind 
you !  And  there's  a  smoke-room  for  the  boys, 
and  the  wife's  got  a  spiritualism-room,  and 
there's  the  show  in  this  room.  Some  jolly 
good  people  here,  too  —  not  all  chorus  girls 
and  walking  gents.  Are  they,  Marie?  " 

"  You  bet  not,"  the  lady  replied. 

"  Rosetta  Rosa's  coming,  and  she  won't  go 
quite  everywhere  —  not  quite !  By  the  way, 
it's  about  time  she  did  come."  He  looked  at 
his  watch. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Foster,"  the  divette  said,  "you 
must  tell  me  all  about  that  business.  I'm  told 
you  were  there,  and  that  there  was  a  terrible 


scene." 


"What  business?"  I  inquired. 

"  At  the  Opera  the  other  night,  when  Al- 
resca  broke  his  thigh.  Didn't  you  go  behind 
and  save  his  life?" 


ROSA'S    SUMMONS  59 

"  I  didn't  precisely  save  his  life,  but  I  at- 
tended to  him." 

"  They  say  he  is  secretly  married  to  Rosa. 
Is  that  so?" 

"  I  really  can't  say,  but  I  think  not." 

"  What  did  she  say  to  him  when  she  went 
into  his  dressing-room?  I  know  all  about  it, 
because  one  of  our  girls  has  a  sister  who's  in 
the  Opera  chorus,  and  her  sister  saw  Rosa  go 
in.  I  do  want  to  know  what  she  said,  and 
what  he  said." 

An  impulse  seized  me  to  invent  a  harmless 
little  tale  for  the  diversion  of  Marie  Des- 
champs.  I  was  astonished  at  my  own  enter- 
prise. I  perceived  that  I  was  getting  accus- 
tomed to  the  society  of  greatness. 

"Really?"  she  exclaimed,  when  I  had  fin- 
ished. 

"  I  assure  you." 

"  He's  teasing,"  Sullivan  said. 

"  Mr.  Foster  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing,"  she 
observed,  drawing  herself  up,  and  I  bowed. 

A  man  with  an  eye-glass  came  and  began 
to  talk  confidently  in  Sullivan's  ear,  and  Sulli- 
van had  to  leave  us. 

"  See  you  later,"  he  smiled.  "  Keep  him  out 
of  mischief,  Marie.  And  I  say,  Carl,  the  wife 


60  THE    GHOST 

said  I  was  to  tell  you  particularly  to  go  into 
her  crystal-gazing  room.    Don't  forget." 

"  I'll  go,  too,"  Miss  Deschamps  said.  "  You 
may  take  me  there  now,  if  you  please.  And 
then  I  must  go  down  to  where  the  champagne 
is  flowing.  But  not  with  you,  not  with  you, 
Mr.  Foster.  There  are  other  gentlemen  here 
very  anxious  for  the  post.  Now  come  along." 

We  made  our  way  out  of  the  stir  and  noise 
of  the  grand  salon,  Marie  Deschamps  leaning 
on  my  arm  in  the  most  friendly  and  confiding 
way  in  the  world,  and  presently  we  found  our- 
„  selves  in  a  much  smaller  apartment  crowded 
with  whispering  seekers  after  knowledge  of 
the  future.  This  room  was  dimly  lighted  from 
the  ceiling  by  a  single  electric  light,  whose 
shade  was  a  queer  red  Japanese  lantern.  At 
the  other  end  of  it  were  double  curtains. 
These  opened  just  as  we  entered,  and  Emme- 
line  appeared,  leading  by  the  hand  a  man  who 
was  laughing  nervously. 

'  Your  fortune,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  your 
fortune! "  she  cried  pleasantly.  Then  she  rec- 
ognized me,  and  her  manner  changed,  or  I 
fancied  that  it  did. 

"Ah,    Carl,    so   you've   arrived !"    she    ex- 


ROSA'S    SUMMONS  61 

claimed,  coming  forward  and  ignoring  all  her 
visitors  except  Marie  and  myself. 

"  Yes,  Emmeline,  dear,"  said  Marie,  "  we've 
come.  And,  please,  I  want  to  see  something 
in  the  crystal.  How  do  you  do  it?  " 

Emmeline  glanced  around. 

"  Sullivan  said  my  crystal-gazing  would  be 
a  failure,"  she  smiled.  "  But  it  isn't,  is  it?  I 
came  in  here  as  soon  as  I  had  done  receiving, 
and  I've  already  had  I  don't  know  how  many 
clients.  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  stop  long,  you 
know.  The  fact  is,  Sullivan  doesn't  like  me 
being  here  at  all.  He  thinks  it  not  right  of  the 
hostess " 

"  But  it's  perfectly  charming  of  you !  "  some 
one  put  in. 

"  Perfectly  delicious !  "  said  Marie. 

"  Now,  who  shall  I  take  first?"  Emmeline 
asked,  puzzled. 

"  Oh,  me,  of  course! "  Marie  Deschamps  re- 
plied without  a  hesitation  or  a  doubt,  though 
she  and  I  had  come  in  last.  And  the  others 
acquiesced,  because  Marie  was  on  the  topmost 
bough  of  all. 

"  Come  along,  then,"  said  Emmeline,  re- 
lieved. 

I  made  as  if  to  follow  them. 


62  THE    GHOST 

"  No,  Mr.  Foster,"  said  Marie.  "  You  just 
stay  here,  and  don't  listen." 

The  two  women  disappeared  behind  the 
portiere,  and  a  faint  giggle,  soon  suppressed, 
came  through  the  portiere  from  Marie. 

I  obeyed  her  orders,  but  as  I  had  not  the 
advantage  of  knowing  a  single  person  in  that 
outer  room,  I  took  myself  off  for  a  stroll,  in 
the  hope  of  encountering  Rosetta  Rosa.  Yes, 
certainly  in  the  hope  of  encountering  Rosetta 
Rosa!  But  in  none  of  the  thronged  chambers 
did  I  discover  her. 

When  I  came  back,  the  waiting-room  for 
prospective  crystal-gazers  was  empty,  and 
Emmeline  herself  was  just  leaving  it. 

"  What !  "  I  exclaimed.    "  All  over?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said;  "  Sullivan  has  sent  for  me. 
You  see,  of  course,  one  has  to  mingle  with 
one's  guests.  Only  they're  really  Sullivan's 
guests." 

"  And  what  about  me?  "  I  said.  "  Am  I  not 
going  to  have  a  look  into  the  crystal?  " 

I  had,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  not  the  slightest 
interest  in  her  crystal  at  that  instant.  I  re- 
garded the  crystal  as  a  harmless  distraction  of 
hers,  and  I  was  being  simply  jocular  when  I 
made  that  remark.  Emmeline,  however,  took 


ROSA'S    SUMMONS  63 

it  seriously.  As  her  face  had  changed  when 
she  first  saw  me  in  the  box  at  the  Opera,  and 
again  to-night  when  she  met  me  and  Marie 
Deschamps  on  my  arm,  so  once  more  it 
changed  now. 

"Do  you  really  want  to?"  she  questioned 
me,  in  her  thrilling  voice. 

My  soul  said:  "  It's  all  rubbish  —  but  sup- 
pose there  is  something  in  it,  after  all?" 

And  I  said  aloud : 

"  Yes." 

"  Come,  then." 

We  passed  through  the  room  with  the  red 
Japanese  lantern,  and  lo!  the  next  room  was 
perfectly  dark  save  for  an  oval  of  white  light 
which  fell  slantingly  on  a  black  marble  table. 
The  effect  was  rather  disconcerting  at  first; 
but  the  explanation  was  entirely  simple.  The 
light  came  from  an  electric  table-lamp  (with  a 
black  cardboard  shade  arranged  at  an  angle) 
which  stood  on  the  table.  As  my  eyes  grew 
accustomed  to  the  obscurity  I  discovered  two 
chairs. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Emmeline. 

And  she  and  I  each  took  one  of  the  chairs, 
at  opposite  sides  of  the  table. 

Emmeline  was  magnificently  attired.    As  I 


64  THE   GHOST 

looked  at  her  in  the  dimness  across  the  table, 
she  drummed  her  fingers  on  the  marble,  and 
then  she  bent  her  face  to  glance  within  the 
shade  of  the  lamp,  and  for  a  second  her  long 
and  heavy,  yet  handsome,  features  were  dis- 
played to  the  minutest  part  in  the  blinding 
ray  of  the  lamp,  and  the  next  second  they  were 
in  obscurity  again.  It  was  uncanny.  I  was 
impressed;  and  all  the  superstition  which,  like 
a  snake,  lies  hidden  in  the  heart  of  every  man, 
stirred  vaguely  and  raised  its  head. 

"  Carl "  Emmeline  began,  and  paused. 

The  woman  indubitably  did  affect  me 
strangely.  Hers  was  a  lonely  soul,  an  un- 
usual mixture  of  the  absolutely  conventional 
and  of  something  quite  else  —  something  bi- 
zarre, disturbing,  and  inexplicable.  I  was  con- 
scious of  a  feeling  of  sympathy  for  her. 

"Well?  "I  murmured. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  the  supernatural?  " 

"  I  neither  believe  nor  disbelieve/'  I  replied, 
"  for  I  have  never  met  with  anything  that 
might  be  a  manifestation  of  it.  But  I  may 
say  that  I  am  not  a  hard  and  fast  materialist." 
And  I  added:  "  Do  you  believe  in  it?  " 

"  Of  course,"  she  snapped. 

u  Then,  if  you  really  believe,  if  it's  so  seri- 


ROSA'S    SUMMONS  65 

ous  to  you,  why  do  you  make  a  show  of  it  for 
triflers?" 

"  Ah !  "  she  breathed.  "  Some  of  them  do 
make  me  angry.  They  like  to  play  at  having 
dealings  with  the  supernatural.  But  I  thought 
the  crystal  would  be  such  a  good  thing  for 
Sullivan's  reception.  It  is  very  important  to 
Sullivan  that  this  should  be  a  great  success 
—  our  first  large  public  reception,  you  know. 
Sullivan  says  we  must  advertise  ourselves/' 

The  explanation  of  her  motives  was  given 
so  naively,  so  simply  and  unaffectedly,  that  it 
was  impossible  to  take  exception  to  it. 

"Where's  the  crystal?"  I  inquired. 

"  It  is  here,"  she  said,  and  she  rolled  'a  glass 
ball  with  the  suddenness  that  had  the  appear- 
ance of  magic  from  the  dark  portion  of  the 
table's  surface  into  the  oval  of  light.  And  it 
was  so  exactly  spherical,  and  the  table  top  was 
so  smooth  that  it  would  not  stay  where  it  was 
put,  and  she  had  to  hold  it  there  with  her 
ringed  hand. 

"  So  that's  it,"  I  remarked. 

"  Carl,"  she  said,  "  it  is  only  right  I  should 
warn  you.  Some  weeks  ago  I  saw  in  the  crys- 
tal the  face  of  a  man  whom  I  did  not  know. 
I  saw  it  again  and  again  —  and  always  the 


66  THE   GHOST 

same  scene.  Then  I  saw  you  at  the  Opera  last 
week,  and  Sullivan  introduced  you  as  his 
cousin  that  he  talks  about  sometimes.  Did 
you  notice  that  night  that  I  behaved  rather 
queerly  ?  " 

"  Yes."    I  spoke  shortly. 

"  You  are  the  man  whom  I  saw  in  the  crys- 
tal." 

"Really?"  I  ejaculated,  smiling,  or  at  least 
trying  to  smile.  "  And  what  is  the  scene  of 
which  I  am  part?  " 

"  You  are  standing But  no !  " 

She  abruptly  ceased  speaking  and  coughed, 
clearing  her  throat,  and  she  fixed  her  large 
eyes  on  me.  Outside  I  could  hear  the  distant 
strain  of  the  orchestra,  and  the  various  noises 
of  a  great  crowd  of  people.  But  this  little 
dark  room,  with  its  sharply  defined  oval  of 
light,  was  utterly  shut  off  from  the  scene  of 
gaiety.  I  was  aware  of  an  involuntary  shiver, 
and  for  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  keep  my  gaze 
steadily  on  the  face  of  the  tall  woman  who  sat 
so  still,  with  such  impressiveness,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  table.  I  waited  for  her  to  proceed, 
and  after  what  seemed  a  long  interval  she 
spoke  again : 


ROSA'S   SUMMONS  67 

"  You  aren't  afraid,  are  you  ? "  she  de- 
manded. 

"  Of  course  I'm  not." 

"  Then  you  shall  look  into  the  crystal  and 
try  to  see  what  I  saw.  I  will  not  tell  you. 
You  shall  try  to  see  for  yourself.  You  may 
succeed,  if  I  help  you.  Now,  try  to  free  your 
mind  from  every  thought,  and  look  earnestly. 
Look!" 

I  drew  the  globe  towards  me  from  under 
her  fingers. 

"  Rum !  "  I  murmured  to  myself. 

Then  I  strenuously  fixed  my  eyes  on  the 
glinting  depths  of  the  crystal,  full  of  strange, 
shooting  fires;  but  I  could  see  nothing  what- 
ever. 

"  No  go! "  I  said.  "  You'll  have  to  tell  me 
what  you  saw." 

"  Patience.  There  is  time  yet.  Look  again. 
Take  my  hand  in  your  right  hand." 

I  obeyed,  and  we  sat  together  in  the  tense 
silence.  After  a  few  minutes,  the  crystal  dark- 
ened and  then  slowly  cleared.  I  trembled  with 
an  uneasy  anticipation. 

"  You  see  something,"  she  breathed  sorrow- 
fully in  my  ear. 

"Not  yet,  not  yet,"  I  whispered.     "But  it 


68  THE    GHOST 

is  coming.  Yes,  I  see  myself,  and  —  and  —  a 
woman  —  a  very  pretty  woman.  I  am  clasp- 
ing her  hand." 

"  Don't  you  recognize  the  woman?  "  Again 
Emmeline's  voice  vibrated  like  a  lamentation 
in  my  ear.  I  did  recognize  the  woman,  and 
the  sweat  stood  on  my  brow. 

"It  is  Rosetta  Rosa!" 

"  And  what  else  do  you  see?  "  my  questioner 
pursued  remorselessly. 

"  I  see  a  figure  behind  us,"  I  stammered, 
"but  what  figure  I  cannot  make  out.  It  is 
threatening  me.  It  is  threatening  me!  It  is 
a  horrible  thing.  It  will  kill  me !  Ah !  " 

I  jumped  up  with  a  nervous  movement. 
The  crystal,  left  to  itself,  rolled  off  the  table 
to  the  floor,  and  fell  with  a  thud  unbroken  on 
the  soft  carpet.  And  I  could  hear  the  intake 
of  Emmeline's  breath. 

At  that  moment  the  double  portiere  was 
pulled  apart,  and  some  one  stood  there  in  the 
red  light  from  the  Japanese  lantern. 

"Is  Mr.  Foster  here?  I  want  him  to  come 
with  me,"  said  a  voice.  And  it  was  the  voice 
of  Rosa. 

Just  behind  her  was  Sullivan. 

"I  expected  you'd  be  here,"  laughed  Sullivan. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE    DAGGER   AND    THE   MAN 

Rosetta  Rosa  and  I  threaded  through  the 
crowd  towards  the  Embankment  entrance  of 
the  Gold  Rooms.  She  had  spoken  for  a  few 
moments  with  Emmeline,  who  went  pale  with 
satisfaction  at  the  candid  friendliness  of  her 
tone,  and  she  had  chatted  quite  gaily  with 
Sullivan  himself;  and  we  had  all  been  tremen- 
dously impressed  by  her  beauty  and  fine  grace 
—  I  certainly  not  the  least.  And  then  she  had 
asked  me,  with  a  quality  of  mysteriousness  in 
her  voice,  to  see  her  to  her  carriage. 

And,  with  her  arm  in  mine,  it  was  impossi- 
ble for  me  to  believe  that  she  could  influence, 
in  any  evil  way,  my  future  career.  That  she 
might  be  the  cause  of  danger  to  my  life  seemed 
ridiculous.  She  was  the  incarnation  of  kind- 
liness and  simplicity.  She  had  nothing  about 
her  of  the  sinister,  and  further,  with  all  her 
transcendent  beauty  and  charm,  she  was  also 
the  incarnation  of  the  matter-of-fact.  I  am 

69 


70  THE   GHOST 

obliged  to  say  this,  though  I  fear  that  it  may 
impair  for  some  people  the  vision  of  her  love- 
liness and  her  unique  personality.  She  was 
the  incarnation  of  the  matter-of-fact,  because 
she  appeared  to  be  invariably  quite  uncon- 
scious of  the  supremacy  of  her  talents.  She 
was  not  weighed  down  by  them,  as  many  ar- 
tists of  distinction  are  weighed  down.  She 
carried  them  lightly,  seemingly  unaware  that 
they  existed.  Thus  no  one  could  have  guessed 
that  that  very  night  she  had  left  the  stage  of 
the  Opera  after  an  extraordinary  triumph  in 
her  greatest  role  —  that  of  Isolde  in  "  Tris- 
tan." 

And  so  her  presence  by  my  side  soothed 
away  almost  at  once  the  excitation  and  the 
spiritual  disturbance  of  the  scene  through 
which  I  had  just  passed  with  Emmeline ;  and 
I  was  disposed,  if  not  to  laugh  at  the  whole 
thing,  at  any  rate  to  regard  it  calmly,  dispas- 
sionately, as  one  of  the  various  inexplicable 
matters  with  which  one  meets  in  a  world  ab- 
surdly called  prosaic.  I  was  sure  that  no  trick 
had  been  played  upon  me.  I  was  sure  that  I 
had  actually  seen  in  the  crystal  what  I  had 
described  to  Emmeline,  and  that  she,  too,  had 
seen  it.  But  then,  I  argued,  such  an  experi- 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  MAN     71 

ence  might  be  the  result  of  hypnotic  sugges- 
tion, or  of  thought  transference,  or  of  some 
other  imperfectly  understood  agency.  .  .  . 
Rosetta  Rosa  an  instrument  of  misfortune! 
No! 

When  I  looked  at  her  I  comprehended  how 
men  have  stopped  at  nothing  for  the  sake  of 
love,  and  how  a  woman,  if  only  she  be  beautiful 
enough,  may  wield  a  power  compared  to  which 
the  sway  of  a  Tsar,  even  a  Tsar  unhampered 
by  Dumas,  is  impotence  itself.  Even  at  that 
early  stage  I  had  begun  to  be  a  captive  to  her. 
But  I  did  not  believe  that  her  rule  was  malign. 

"  Mr.  Foster/'  she  said,  "  I  have  asked  you 
to  see  me  to  my  carriage,  but  really  I  want  you 
to  do  more  than  that.  I  want  you  to  go  with 
me  to  poor  Alresca's.  He  is  progressing  satis- 
factorily, so  far  as  I  can  judge,  but  the  dear 
fellow  is  thoroughly  depressed.  I  saw  him 
this  afternoon,  and  he  wished,  if  I  met  you 
here  to-night,  that  I  should  bring  you  to  him. 
He  has  a  proposition  to  make  to  you,  and  I 
hope  you  will  accept  it." 

"  I  shall  accept  it,  then,"  I  said. 

She  pulled  out  a  tiny  gold  watch,  glistening 
with  diamonds. 

"  It  is  half-past  one,"  she  said.    "  We  might 


72  THE    GHOST 

be  there  in  ten  minutes.  You  don't  mind  it 
being  late,  I  suppose.  We  singers,  you  know, 
have  our  own  hours." 

In  the  foyer  we  had  to  wait  while  the  car- 
riage was  called.  I  stood  silent,  and  perhaps 
abstracted,  at  her  elbow,  absorbed  in  the  pride 
and  happiness  of  being  so  close  to  her,  and 
looking  forward  with  a  tremulous  pleasure  to 
the  drive  through  London  at  her  side.  She 
was  dressed  in  gray,  with  a  large  ermine-lined 
cloak,  and  she  wore  no  ornaments  except  a 
thin  jewelled  dagger  in  her  lovely  hair. 

All  at  once  I  saw  that  she  flushed,  and,  fol- 
lowing the  direction  of  her  eyes,  I  beheld  Sir 
Cyril  Smart,  with  a  startled  gaze  fixed  immov- 
ably on  her  face.  Except  the  footmen  and 
the  attendants  attached  to  the  hotel,  there 
were  not  half  a  dozen  people  in  the  entrance- 
hall  at  this  moment.  Sir  Cyril  was  nearly  as 
white  as  the  marble  floor.  He  made  a  step 
forward,  and  then  stood  still.  She,  too,  moved 
towards  him,  as  it  seemed,  involuntarily. 

"  Good  evening,  Miss  Rosa,"  he  said  at 
length,  with  a  stiff  inclination.  She  responded, 
and  once  more  they  stared  at  each  other.  I 
wondered  whether  they  had  quarrelled  again, 
or  whether  both  were  by  some  mischance 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  MAN     73 

simultaneously  indisposed.  Surely  they  must 
have  already  met  during  the  evening  at  the 
Opera ! 

Then  Rosa,  with  strange  deliberation,  put 
her  hand  to  her  hair  and  pulled  out  the  jew- 
elled dagger. 

"  Sir  Cyril,"  she  said,  "  you  seem  fascinated 
by  this  little  weapon.  Do  you  recognize  it?  " 

He  made  no  answer,  nor  moved,  but  I  no- 
ticed that  his  hands  were  tightly  clenched. 

"  You  do  recognize  it,  Sir  Cyril?  " 

At  last  he  nodded. 

"  Then  take  it.  The  dagger  shall  be  yours. 
To-night,  within  the  last  minute,  I  think  I 
have  suddenly  discovered  that,  next  to  myself, 
you  have  the  best  right  to  it." 

He  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  but  made  no 
sound. 

"  See/'  she  said.  "  It  is  a  real  dagger,  sharp 
and  pointed." 

Throwing  back  her  cloak  with  a  quick  ges- 
ture, she  was  about  to  prick  the  skin  of  her  left 
arm  between  the  top  of  her  long  glove  and  the 
sleeve  of  her  low-cut  dress.  But  Sir  Cyril,  and 
I  also,  jumped  to  stop  her. 

"  Don't  do  that,"  I  said.  "  You  might  hurt 
yourself," 


74  THE    GHOST 

She  glanced  at  me,  angry  for  the  instant; 
but  her  anger  dissolved  in  an  icy  smile. 

"  Take  it,  Sir  Cyril,  to  please  me." 

Her  intonation  was  decidedly  peculiar. 

And  Sir  Cyril  took  the  dagger. 

"  Miss  Rosa's  carriage,"  a  commissionaire 
shouted,  and,  beckoning  to  me,  the  girl  moved 
imperiously  down  the  steps  to  the  courtyard. 
There  was  no  longer  a  smile  on  her  face,  which 
had  a  musing  and  withdrawn  expression.  Sir 
Cyril  stood  stock-still,  holding  the  dagger. 
What  the  surrounding  lackeys  thought  of  this 
singular  episode  I  will  not  guess.  Indeed,  the 
longer  I  live,  the  less  I  care  to  meditate  upon 
what  lackeys  do  think.  But  that  the  adven- 
tures of  their  employers  provide  them  with 
ample  food  for  thought  there  can  be  no  doubt. 

Rosa's  horses  drew  us  swiftly  away  from 
the  Grand  Babylon  Hotel,  and  it  seemed  that 
she  wished  to  forget  or  to  ignore  the  remark- 
able incident.  For  some  moments  she  sat 
silent,  her  head  slightly  bent,  her  cloak  still 
thrown  back,  but  showing  no  sign  of  agita- 
tion beyond  a  slightly  hurried  heaving  of  the 
bosom. 

I  was  discreet  enough  not  to  break  in  upon 
her  reflections  by  any  attempt  at  conversation, 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  MAN     75 

for  it  seemed  to  me  that  what  I  had  just  wit- 
nessed had  been  a  sudden  and  terrible  crisis, 
not  only  in  the  life  of  Sir  Cyril,  but  also  in  that 
of  the  girl  whose  loveliness  was  dimly  revealed 
to  me  in  the  obscurity  of  the  vehicle. 

We  had  got  no  further  than  Trafalgar 
Square  when  she  aroused  herself,  looked  at 
me,  and  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  remarked,  "  that  a  doctor 
can't  cure  every  disease?  " 

"  Scarcely,"  I  replied. 

"  Not  even  a  young  doctor?  "  she  said  with 
comical  gravity. 

"  Not  even  a  young  doctor,"  I  gravely  an- 
swered. 

Then  we  both  laughed. 

"  You  must  excuse  my  fun,"  she  said.  "  I 
can't  help  it,  especially  when  my  mind  is  dis- 
turbed." 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me?  "  I  inquired.  "  Was 
it  just  a  general  observation  caused  by  the 
seriousness  of  my  countenance,  or  were  you 
thinking  of  something  in  particular?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Alresca,"  she  murmured, 
"my  poor  Alresca.  He  is  the  rarest  gentle- 
man and  the  finest  artist  in  Europe,  and  he  is 
suffering." 


76  THE    GHOST 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  one  can't  break  one's  thigh 
for  nothing." 

"  It  is  not  his  thigh.    It  is  something  else." 

"What?" 

She  shook  her  head,  to  indicate  her  inability 
to  answer. 

Here  I  must  explain  that,  on  the  morning 
after  the  accident,  I  had  taken  a  hansom  to  the 
Devonshire  Mansion  with  the  intention  of  pay- 
ing a  professional  visit  to  Alresca.  I  was  not 
altogether  certain  that  I  ought  to  regard  the 
case  as  mine,  but  I  went.  Immediately  before 
my  hansom,  however,  there  had  drawn  up  an- 
other hansom  in  front  of  the  portals  of  the 
Devonshire,  and  out  of  that  other  hansom  had 
stepped  the  famous  Toddy  MacWhister. 
Great  man  as  Toddy  was,  he  had  an  eye  on 
"  saxpences,"  and  it  was  evident  that,  in  spite 
of  the  instructions  which  he  had  given  me 
as  to  the  disposal  of  Alresca,  Toddy  was  claim- 
ing the  patient  for  his  own.  I  retired.  It  was 
the  only  thing  I  could  do.  Two  doctors  were 
not  needed,  and  I  did  not  see  myself,  a  young 
man  scarcely  yet  escaped  from  the  fear  of  ex- 
aminations, disputing  cases  with  the  redoubt- 
able Toddy.  I  heard  afterwards  that  he  had 
prolonged  his  stay  in  London  in  order  to  at- 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  MAN     77 

tend  Alresca.  So  that  I  had  not  seen  the  tenor 
since  his  accident. 

"  What  does  Monsieur  Alresca  want  to  see 
me  about?"  I  demanded  cautiously. 

"  He  will  tell  you,"  said  Rosa,  equally  cau- 
tious. 

A  silence  followed. 

"  Do  you  think  I  upset  him  —  that  night?" 
she  asked. 

"  You  wish  me  to  be  frank?  " 

"  If  I  had  thought  you  would  not  be  frank 
I  would  not  have  asked  you.  Do  you  imagine 
it  is  my  habit  to  go  about  putting  awkward 
questions  like  that?" 

"  I  think  you  did  upset  him  very  much." 

"  You  think  I  was  wrong?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  she  admitted. 

I  had  been  bold.  A  desire  took  me  to  be 
still  bolder.  She  was  in  the  carriage  with  me. 
She  was  not  older  than  I.  And  were  she  Ros- 
etta  Rosa,  or  a  mere  miss  taken  at  hazard  out 
of  a  drawing-room,  she  was  feminine  and  I 

was  masculine.  In  short Well,  I  have 

fits  of  rashness  sometimes. 

"  You  say  he  is  depressed,"  I  addressed  her 


78  THE    GHOST 

firmly.  "  And  I  will  venture  to  inform  you 
that  I  am  not  in  the  least  surprised." 

"  Oh !  "  she  exclaimed.    "  And  why  ?  " 

"  After  what  you  said  to  him  that  night  in 
the  dressing-room.  If  I  had  been  in  Alresca's 
place  I  know  that  I  should  be  depressed,  and 
very  much  depressed,  too." 

"  You  mean "  she  faltered. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  mean  that." 

I  thought  I  had  gone  pretty  far,  and  my 
heart  was  beating.  I  could  not  justly  have 
protested  had  she  stopped  the  carriage  and 
deposited  me  on  the  pavement  by  the  railings 
of  Green  Park.  But  her  character  was  angelic. 
She  accepted  my  treatment  of  her  with  the 
most  astounding  meekness. 

"  You  mean,"  she  said,  "  that  he  is  in  love 
with  me,  and  I  chose  just  that  night  to  —  re- 
fuse him." 

I  nodded. 

"That  is  emotional  cause  enough,  isn't  it, 
to  account  for  any  mysterious  depression  that 
any  man  is  ever  likely  to  have?" 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  she  said  softly.  "  You 
don't  know  Alresca.  You  don't  know  his 
strength  of  mind.  I  can  assure  you  that  it 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  MAN     79 

is  something  more  than  unreturned  love  that 
is  destroying  him." 

"  Destroying  him?  " 

"  Yes,  destroying  him.  Alresca  is  capable 
of  killing  a  futile  passion.  His  soul  is  too  far 
removed  from  his  body,  and  even  from  his 
mind,  to  be  seriously  influenced  by  the  mis- 
takes and  misfortunes  of  his  mind  and  body. 
Do  you  understand  me?" 

"  I  think  so." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  Alresca  is  some- 
thing in  his  most  secret  soul." 

"  And  you  can  form  no  idea  of  what  it 
is?" 

She  made  no  reply. 

"  Doctors  certainly  can't  cure  such  diseases 
as  that,"  I  said. 

"  They  can  try,"  said  Rosetta  Rosa. 

"  You  wish  me  to  try?  "    I  faced  her. 

She  inclined  her  head. 

"  Then  I  will,"  I  said  with  sudden  passion- 
ateness,  forgetting  even  that  I  was  not  Al- 
resca's  doctor. 

The  carriage  stopped.  In  the  space  of  less 
than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  so  it  seemed  to  me, 
we  had  grown  almost  intimate  —  she  and  I. 

Alresca's  man  was  awaiting  us  in  the  por- 


8o  THE    GHOST 

tico  of  the  Devonshire,  and  without  a  word 
he  led  us  to  his  master.  Alresca  lay  on  his 
back  on  a  couch  in  a  large  and  luxuriously 
littered  drawing-room.  The  pallor  of  his  face 
and  the  soft  brilliance  of  his  eyes  were  infi- 
nitely pathetic,  and  again  he  reminded  me  of 
the  tragic  and  gloomy  third  act  of  "  Tristan." 
He  greeted  us  kindly  in  his  quiet  voice. 

"  I  have  brought  the  young  man/'  said 
Rosa,  "  and  now,  after  I  have  inquired  about 
your  health,  I  must  go.  It  is  late.  Are  you 
better,  Alresca?" 

"  I  am  better  now  that  you  are  here/'  he 
smiled.  "  But  you  must  not  go  yet.  It  is 
many  days  since  I  heard  a  note  of  music. 
Sing  to  me  before  you  go." 

"To-night?" 

"  Yes,  to-night." 

"What  shall  I  sing?" 

"  Anything,  so  that  I  hear  your  voice." 

"  I  will  sing  '  Elsa's  Dream/  But  who  will 
accompany?  You  know  I  simply  can't  play 
to  my  own  singing." 

I  gathered  together  all  my  courage. 

"  I'm  an  awful  player,"  I  said,  "  but  I  know 
the  whole  score  of  '  Lohengrin/  " 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  MAN     81 

"  How  clever  of  you !  "  Rosa  laughed.  "  I'm 
sure  you  play  beautifully." 

Alresca  rewarded  me  with  a  look,  and,  trem- 
bling, I  sat  down  to  the  piano.  I  was  despic- 
ably nervous.  Before  the  song  was  finished 
I  had  lost  everything  but  honor;  but  I  played 
that  accompaniment  to  the  most  marvellous 
soprano  in  the  world. 

And  what  singing!  Rosa  stood  close  beside 
me.  I  caught  the  golden  voice  at  its  birth. 
Every  vibration,  every  shade  of  expression, 
every  subtlety  of  feeling  was  mine;  and  the 
experience  was  unforgettable.  Many  times 
since  then  have  I  heard  Rosa  sing,  many  times 
in  my  hearing  has  she  excited  a  vast  audience 
to  overwhelming  enthusiasm;  but  never,  to 
my  mind,  has  she  sung  so  finely  as  on  that 
night.  She  was  profoundly  moved,  she  had 
in  Alresca  the  ideal  listener,  and  she  sang  with 
the  magic  power  of  a  goddess.  It  was  the 
summit  of  her  career. 

"  There  is  none  like  you,"  Alresca  said,  and 
the  praise  of  Alresca  brought  the  crimson  to 
her  cheek.  He  was  probably  the  one  person 
living  who  had  the  right  to  praise  her,  for  an 
artist  can  only  be  properly  estimated  by  his 
equals. 


82  THE   GHOST 

"  Come  to  me,  Rosa,"  he  murmured,  as  he 
took  her  hand  in  his  and  kissed  it.  "  You  are 
in  exquisite  voice  to-night,"  he  said. 

"Am  I?" 

"  Yes.  You  have  been  excited ;  and  I  notice 
that  you  always  sing  best  under  excitement/' 

"Perhaps,"  she  replied.  "The  fact  is,  I 
have  just  met  —  met  some  one  whom  I  never 
expected  to  meet.  That  is  all.  Good  night, 
dear  friend." 

"  Good  night." 

She  passed  her  hand  soothingly  over  his 
forehead. 

When  we  were  alone  Alresca  seemed  to  be 
overtaken  by  lassitude. 

"  Surely,"  I  said,  "  it  is  not  by  Toddy  —  I 
mean  Dr.  Todhunter  MacWhister's  advice 
that  you  keep  these  hours.  The  clocks  are 
striking  two ! " 

"  Ah,  my  friend,"  he  replied  wearily,  in  his 
precise  and  rather  elaborate  English,  "  ill  or 
well,  I  must  live  as  I  have  been  accustomed 
to  live.  For  twenty  years  I  have  gone  to  bed 
promptly  at  three  o'clock  and  risen  at  eleven 
o'clock.  Must  I  change  because  of  a  broken 
thigh?  In  an  hour's  time,  and  not  before,  my 
people  will  carry  this  couch  and  its  burden  to 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  MAN     83 

my  bedroom.  Then  I  shall  pretend  to  sleep; 
but  I  shall  not  sleep.  Somehow  of  late  the 
habit  of  sleep  has  left  me.  Hitherto,  I  have 
scorned  opiates,  which  are  the  refuge  of  the 
weak-minded,  yet  I  fear  I  may  be  compelled 
to  ask  you  for  one.  There  was  a  time  when  I 
could  will  myself  to  sleep.  But  not  now,  not 
now!" 

"  I  am  not  your  medical  adviser,"  I  said, 
mindful  of  professional  etiquette,  "  and  I  could 
not  think  of  administering  an  opiate  without 
the  express  permission  of  Dr.  MacWhister." 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  his  eyes  resting  on 
me  with  a  quiet  satisfaction  that  touched  me 
to  the  heart,  "  but  you  are  my  medical  adviser, 
if  you  will  honor  me  so  far.  I  have  not  for- 
gotten your  neat  hand  and  skilful  treatment 
of  me  at  the  time  of  my  accident.  To-day  the 
little  Scotchman  told  me  that  my  thigh  was 
progressing  quite  admirably,  and  that  all  I 
needed  was  nursing.  I  suggested  to  him  that 
you  should  finish  the  case.  He  had,  in  fact, 
praised  your  skill.  And  so,  Mr.  Foster,  will 
you  be  my  doctor?  I  want  you  to  examine  me 
thoroughly,  for,  unless  I  deceive  myself,  I  am 
suffering  from  some  mysterious  complaint." 

I  was  enormously,  ineffably  flattered  and 


84  THE    GHOST 

delighted,  and  all  the  boy  in  me  wanted  to 
caper  around  the  room  and  then  to  fall  on 
Alresca's  neck  and  dissolve  in  gratitude  to 
him.  But  instead  of  these  feats,  I  put  on  a  vast 
seriousness  (which  must  really  have  been  very 
funny  to  behold),  and  then  I  thanked  Alresca 
in  formal  phrases,  and  then,  quite  in  the  cor- 
rect professional  style,  I  began  to  make  gentle 
fun  of  his  idea  of  a  mysterious  complaint,  and 
I  asked  him  for  a  catalogue  of  his  symptoms. 
I  perceived  that  he  and  Rosa  must  have  pre- 
viously arranged  that  I  should  be  requested 
to  become  his  doctor. 

"  There  are  no  symptoms,"  he  replied,  "  ex- 
cept a  gradual  loss  of  vitality.     But  examine 


me." 


I  did  so  most  carefully,  testing  the  main 
organs,  and  subjecting  him  to  a  severe  cross- 
examination. 

"Well?"  he  said,  as,  after  I  had  finished,  I 
sat  down  to  cogitate. 

"Well,  Monsieur  Alresca,  all  I  can  say  is 
that  your  fancy  is  too  lively.  That  is  what 
you  suffer  from,  an  excitable  fan " 

"  Stay,  my  friend,"  he  interrupted  me  with 
a  firm  gesture.  "  Before  you  go  any  further, 
let  me  entreat  you  to  be  frank.  Without  abso- 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  MAN     85 

lute  candor  nothing  can  be  done.  I  think  I 
am  a  tolerable  judge  of  faces,  and  I  can  read  in 
yours  the  fact  that  my  condition  has  puzzled 
you." 

I  paused,  taken  aback.  It  had  puzzled  me. 
I  thought  of  all  that  Rosetta  Rosa  had  said, 
and  I  hesitated.  Then  I  made  up  my  mind. 

"  I  yield,"  I  responded.  "  You  are  not  an 
ordinary  man,  and  it  was  absurd  of  me  to 
treat  you  as  one.  Absolute  candor  is,  as  you 
say,  essential,  and  so  I'll  confess  that  your  case 
does  puzzle  me.  There  is  no  organic  disease, 
but  there  is  a  quite  unaccountable  organic 
weakness  —  a  weakness  which  fifty  broken 
thighs  would  not  explain.  I  must  observe,  and 
endeavor  to  discover  the  cause.  In  the  mean- 
time I  have  only  one  piece  of  advice.  You 
know  that  in  certain  cases  we  have  to  tell 
women  patients  that  a  successful  issue  de- 
pends on  their  own  will-power:  I  say  the  same 
thing  to  you." 

"  Receive  my  thanks,"  he  said.  "  You  have 
acted  as  I  hoped.  As  for  the  will-power,  that 
is  another  matter,"  and  a  faint  smile  crossed 
his  handsome,  melancholy  face. 

I  rose  to  leave.    It  was  nearly  three  o'clock. 


86  THE    GHOST 

"  Give  me  a  few  moments  longer.  I  have  a 
favor  to  ask." 

After  speaking  these  words  he  closed  his 
eyes,  as  though  to  recall  the  opening  sentences 
of  a  carefully  prepared  speech. 

"  I  am  entirely  at  your  service,"  I  mur- 
mured. 

"  Mr.  Foster,"  he  began,  "  you  are  a  young 
man  of  brilliant  accomplishments,  at  the  com- 
mencement of  your  career.  Doubtless  you 
have  made  your  plans  for  the  immediate  fu- 
ture, and  I  feel  quite  sure  that  those  plans  do 
not  include  any  special  attendance  upon  my- 
self, whom  until  the  other  day  you  had  never 
met.  I  am  a  stranger  to  you,  and  on  the 
part  of  a  stranger  it  would  be  presumptuous 
to  ask  you  to  alter  your  plans.  Nevertheless, 
I  am  at  this  moment  capable  of  that  presump- 
tion. In  my  life  I  have  not  often  made  re- 
quests, but  such  requests  as  I  have  made  have 
never  been  refused.  I  hope  that  my  good  for- 
tune in  this  respect  may  continue.  Mr.  Foster, 
I  wish  to  leave  England.  I  wish  to  die  in  my 
own  place " 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  in  protest  against 
the  word  "  die." 

"  If  you  prefer  it,  I  wish  to  live  in  my  own 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  MAN     87 

place.  Will  you  accompany  me  as  companion? 
I  am  convinced  that  we  should  suit  each  other 
—  that  I  should  derive  benefit  from  your  skill 
and  pleasure  from  your  society,  while  you  — 
you  would  tolerate  the  whims  and  eccentrici- 
ties of  my  middle  age.  We  need  not  discuss 
terms ;  you  would  merely  name  your  fee." 

There  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  no  reason  in 
the  world  why  I  should  have  agreed  to  this 
suggestion  of  Alresca's.  As  he  himself  had 
said,  we  were  strangers,  and  I  was  under  no 
obligation  to  him  of  any  kind. 

Yet  at  once  I  felt  an  impulse  to  accept  his 
proposal.  Whence  that  impulse  sprang  I  can- 
not say.  Perhaps  from  the  aspect  of  an  adven- 
ture that  the  affair  had.  Perhaps  from  the 
vague  idea  that  by  attaching  myself  to  Alresca 
I  should  be  brought  again  into  contact  with 
Rosetta  Rosa.  Certainly  I  admired  him  im- 
mensely. None  who  knew  him  could  avoid 
doing  so.  Already,  indeed,  I  had  for  him  a 
feeling  akin  to  affection. 

"  I  see  by  your  face/'  he  said,  "  that  you  are 
not  altogether  unwilling.  You  accept?" 

"With  pleasure;"  and  I  smiled  with  the 
pleasure  I  felt. 

But  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  gave  the  answer 


88         .  THE    GHOST 

independently  of  my  own  volition.  The  words 
were  uttered  almost  before  I  knew. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you." 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  said.  "  I  have  made  no  plans, 
and  therefore  nothing  will  be  disarranged. 
Further,  I  count  it  an  honor;  and,  moreover, 
your  '  case  '  —  pardon  the  word  —  interests 
me  deeply.  Where  do  you  wish  to  go?  " 

"  To  Bruges,  of  course." 

He  seemed  a  little  surprised  that  I  should 
ask  the  question. 

"  Bruges,"  he  went  on,  "  that  dear  and  won- 
derful old  city  of  Flanders,  is  the  place  of  my 
birth.  You  have  visited  it?" 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  but  I  have  often  heard  that 
it  is  the  most  picturesque  city  in  Europe,  and 
I  should  like  to  see  it  awfully." 

"  There  is  nothing  in  the  world  like  Bru- 
ges," he  said.  "  Bruges  the  Dead  they  call  it; 
a  fit  spot  in  which  to  die." 

"  If  you  talk  like  that  I  shall  reconsider  my 
decision." 

"  Pardon,  pardon ! "  he  laughed,  suddenly 
wearing  an  appearance  of  gaiety.  "  I  am  hap- 
pier now.  When  can  we  go?  To-morrow? 
Let  it  be  to-morrow." 

"  Impossible,"  I  said.     "  The  idea  of  a  man 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  MAN     89 

whose  thigh  was  broken  less  than  a  fortnight 
since  taking  a  sea  voyage  to-morrow !  Do  you 
know  that  under  the  most  favorable  circum- 
stances it  will  be  another  five  or  six  weeks 
before  the  bone  unites,  and  that  even  then  the 
greatest  care  will  be  necessary?  " 

His  gaiety  passed. 

"  Five  more  weeks  here?  " 

"  I  fear  so." 

"  But  our  agreement  shall  come  into  opera- 
tion at  once.  You  will  visit  me  daily?  Rather, 
you  will  live  here?" 

"  If  it  pleases  you.  I  am  sure  I  shall  be 
charmed  to  live  here." 

"  Let  the  time  go  quickly  —  let  it  fly !  Ah, 
Mr.  Foster,  you  will  like  Bruges.  It  is  the 
most  dignified  of  cities.  It  has  the  pictur- 
esqueness  of  Nuremburg,  the  waterways  of 
Amsterdam,  the  squares  of  Turin,  the  monu- 
ments of  Perugia,  the  cafes  of  Florence,  and 
the  smells  of  Cologne.  I  have  an  old  house 
there  of  the  seventeenth  century;  it  is  on 
the  Quai  des  Augustins." 

"A  family  affair?"  I  questioned. 

"  No ;  I  bought  it  only  a  few  years  ago  from 
a  friend.  I  fear  I  cannot  boast  of  much  family. 
My  mother  made  lace,  my  father  was  a  school- 


90  THE    GHOST 

master.  They  are  both  dead,  and  I  have  no 
relatives." 

Somewhere  in  the  building  a  clock  struck 
three,  and  at  that  instant  there  was  a  tap  at 
the  door,  and  Alresca's  valet  discreetly  en- 
tered. 

"  Monsieur  rang?" 

"  No,  Alexis.    Leave  us." 

Comprehending  that  it  was  at  last  Alresca's 
hour  for  retiring,  I  rose  to  leave,  and  called 
the  man  back. 

"  Good  night,  dear  friend,"  said  Alresca, 
pressing  my  hand.  "  I  shall  expect  you  to- 
morrow, and  in  the  meantime  a  room  shall  be 
prepared  for  you.  Au  revoir." 

Alexis  conducted  me  to  the  door.  As  he 
opened  it  he  made  a  civil  remark  about  the 
beauty  of  the  night.  I  glanced  at  his  face. 

"  You  are  English,  aren't  you  ? "  I  asked 
him. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  only  ask  because  Alexis  is  such  a  peculiar 
name  for  an  Englishman." 

"  It  is  merely  a  name  given  to  me  by  Mon- 
sieur Alresca  when  I  entered  his  service  sev- 
eral years  ago.  My  name  is  John  Smedley." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Smedley,"  I  said,  putting  half  a 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  MAN     91 

sovereign  into  his  hand,  "  I  perceive  that  you 
are  a  man  of  intelligence." 

"  Hope  so,  sir." 

"  I  am  a  doctor,  and  to-morrow,  as  I  dare 
say  you  heard,  I  am  coming  to  live  here  with 
your  master  in  order  to  attend  him  medically." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  He  says  he  is  suffering  from  some  mysteri- 
ous complaint,  Smedley." 

"  He  told  me  as  much,  sir." 

"  Do  you  know  what  that  complaint  is?  " 

"  Haven't  the  least  idea,  sir.  But  he  always 
seems  low  like,  and  he  gets  lower,  especially 
during  the  nights.  What  might  the  complaint 
be,  sir?" 

"  I  wish  I  could  tell  you.  By  the  way, 
haven't  you  had  trained  nurses  there?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  The  other  doctor  sent  two.  But 
the  governor  dismissed  'em  yesterday.  He 
told  me  they  worried  him.  Me  and  the  butler 
does  what's  necessary." 

£  You  say  he  is  more  depressed  during  the 
nights  —  you  mean  he  shows  the  effects  of 
that  depression  in  the  mornings  ?  " 

"  Just  so,  sir." 

"  I  am  going  to  be  confidential,  Smedley. 
Are  you  aware  if  your  master  has  any  secret 


92  THE    GHOST 

trouble  on  his  mind,  any  worry  that  he  reveals 
to  no  one?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  am  not." 
"  Thank  you,  Smedley.  Good  night." 
"  Good  night,  sir,  and  thank  you." 
I  had  obtained  no  light  from  Alexis,  and  I 
sought  in  vain  for  an  explanation  of  my  pa- 
tient's condition.  Of  course,  it  was  plausible 
enough  to  argue  that  his  passion  for  Rosa  was 
at  the  root  of  the  evil;  but  I  remembered 
Rosa's  words  to  me  in  the  carriage,  and  I  was 
disposed  to  agree  with  them.  To  me,  as  to 
her,  it  seemed  that,  though  Alresca  was  the 
sort  of  man  to  love  deeply,  he  was  not  the  sort 
of  man  to  allow  an  attachment,  however  pro- 
found or  unfortunate,  to  make  a  wreck  of  his 
existence.  No.  If  Alresca  was  dying,  he  was 
not  dying  of  love. 

As  Alexis  had  remarked,  it  was  a  lovely 
summer  night,  and  after  quitting  the  Devon- 
shire I  stood  idly  on  the  pavement,  and  gazed 
about  me  in  simple  enjoyment  of  the  scene. 

The  finest  trees  in  Hyde  Park  towered 
darkly  in  front  of  me,  and  above  them  was 
spread  the  star-strewn  sky,  with  a  gibbous 
moon  just  showing  over  the  housetops  to  the 
left.  I  could  not  see  a  soul,  but  faintly  from 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  MAN     93 

the  distance  came  the  tramp  of  a  policeman  on 
his  beat.  The  hour,  to  my  busy  fancy,  seemed 
full  of  fate.  But  it  was  favorable  to  medita- 
tion, and  I  thought,  and  thought,  and  thought. 
Was  I  at  the  beginning  of  an  adventure,  or 
would  the  business,  so  strangely  initiated,  re- 
solve itself  into  something  prosaic  and  medi- 
ocre? I  had  a  suspicion  —  indeed,  I  had  a 
hope  —  that  adventures  were  in  store  for  me. 
Perhaps  peril  also.  For  the  sinister  impres- 
sion originally  made  upon  me  by  that  ridic- 
ulous crystal-gazing  scene  into  which  I  had 
been  entrapped  by  Emmeline  had  returned, 
and  do  what  I  would  I  could  not  dismiss  it. 

My  cousin's  wife  was  sincere,  with  all  her 
vulgarity  and  inborn  snobbishness.  And  that 
being  assumed,  how  did  I  stand  with  regard 
to  Rosetta  Rosa?  Was  the  thing  a  coinci- 
dence, or  had  I  indeed  crossed  her  path  pur- 
suant to  some  strange  decree  of  Fate  —  a  de- 
cree which  Emmeline  had  divined  or  guessed 
or  presaged?  There  was  a  certain  weirdness 
about  Emmeline  that  was  rather  puzzling. 

I  had  seen  Rosa  but  twice,  and  her  image, 
to  use  the  old  phrase,  was  stamped  on  my 
heart.  True!  Yet  the  heart  of  any  young 
man  who  had  talked  with  Rosa  twice  would 


94  THE    GHOST 

in  all  probability  have  been  similarly  affected. 
Rosa  was  not  the  ordinary  pretty  and  clever 
girl.  She  was  such  a  creature  as  grows  in  this 
world  not  often  in  a  century.  She  was  an 
angel  out  of  Paradise  —  an  angel  who  might 
pass  across  Europe  and  leave  behind  her  a 
trail  of  broken  hearts  to  mark  the  transit. 
And  if  angels  could  sing  as  she  did,  then  no 
wonder  that  the  heavenly  choirs  were  happy 
in  nothing  but  song.  (You  are  to  remember 
that  it  was  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.)  No, 
the  fact  that  I  was  already  half  in  love  with 
Rosa  proved  nothing. 

On  the  other  hand,  might  not  the  man- 
ner in  which  she  and  Alresca  had  sought  me 
out  be  held  to  prove  something?  Why  should 
such  exalted  personages  think  twice  about  a 
mere  student  of  medicine  who  had  had  the 
good  fortune  once  to  make  himself  useful  at 
a  critical  juncture?  Surely,  I  could  argue  that 
here  was  the  hand  of  Fate. 

Rubbish!  I  was  an  ass  to  stand  there  at 
that  unearthly  hour,  robbing  myself  of  sleep 
in  order  to  pursue  such  trains  of  thought. 
Besides,  supposing  that  Rosa  and  myself  were, 
in  fact,  drawn  together  by  chance  or  fate,  or 
whatever  you  like  to  call  it,  had  not  disaster 


THE  DAGGER  AND  THE  MAN    95 

been  prophesied  in  that  event?  It  would  be 
best  to  leave  the  future  alone.  My  aim  should 
be  to  cure  Alresca,  and  then  go  soberly  to 
Totnes  and  join  my  brother  in  practice. 

I  turned  down  Oxford  Street,  whose  per- 
spective of  gas-lamps  stretched  east  and  west 
to  distances  apparent  infinite,  and  as  I  did  so 
I  suddenly  knew  that  some  one  was  standing 
by  the  railings  opposite,  under  the  shadow  of 
the  great  trees.  I  had  been  so  sure  that  I  was 
alone  that  this  discovery  startled  me  a  little, 
and  I  began  to  whistle  tunelessly. 

I  could  make  out  no  details  of  the  figure, 
except  that  it  was  a  man  who  stood  there,  and 
to  satisfy  my  curiosity  I  went  across  to  in- 
spect him.  To  my  astonishment  he  was  very 
well,  though  very  quietly,  dressed,  and  had  the 
appearance  of  being  a  gentleman  of  the  high- 
est distinction.  His  face  was  clean-shaven, 
and  I  noticed  the  fine,  firm  chin,  and  the  clear, 
unblinking  eyes.  He  stood  quite  still,  and  as 
I  approached  looked  me  full  in  tne  face.  It 
was  a  terrible  gaze,  and  I  do  not  mind  confess- 
ing that,  secretly,  I  quailed  under  it;  there 
was  malice  and  a  dangerous  hate  in  that  gaze. 
Nevertheless  I  was  young,  careless,  and  enter- 
prising. 


96  THE    GHOST 

"  Can  you  tell  me  if  I  am  likely  to  get  a  cab 
at  this  time  of  night?  "  I  asked  as  lightly  as  I 
could.  I  wanted  to  hear  his  voice. 

But  he  returned  no  answer,  merely  gazing 
at  me  as  before,  without  a  movement. 

"Strange!"  I  said,  half  to  myself.  "The 
fellow  must  be  deaf,  or  mad,  or  a  foreigner." 

The  man  smiled  slightly,  his  lips  drooping 
to  a  sneer.  I  retreated,  and  as  I  stepped  back 
on  the  curb  my  foot  touched  some  small  ob- 
ject. I  looked  down,  and  in  the  dim  light,  for 
the  dawn  was  already  heralded,  I  saw  the  glit- 
ter of  jewels.  I  stooped  and  picked  the  thing 
up.  It  was  the  same  little  dagger  which  but 
a  few  hours  before  I  had  seen  Rosa  present 
with  so  much  formality  to  Sir  Cyril  Smart. 
But  there  was  this  difference  —  the  tiny  blade 
was  covered  with  blood! 


CHAPTER   VI 
ALRESCA'S  FATE 

The  house  was  large,  and  its  beautiful  fa- 
£ade  fronted  a  narrow  canal.  To  say  that  the 
spot  was  picturesque  is  to  say  little,  for  the 
whole  of  Bruges  is  picturesque.  This  corner 
of  the  Quai  des  Augustins  was  distinguished 
even  in  Bruges.  The  aspect  of  the  mansion, 
with  its  wide  entrance  and  broad  courtyard, 
on  which  the  inner  windows  looked  down  in 
regular  array,  was  simple  and  dignified  in  the 
highest  degree.  The  architecture  was  an  en- 
tirely admirable  specimen  of  Flemish  domestic 
work  of  the  best  period,  and  the  internal  dec- 
oration and  the  furniture  matched  to  a  nicety 
the  exterior.  It  was  in  that  grave  and  silent 
abode,  with  Alresca,  that  I  first  acquired  a 
taste  for  bric-a-brac.  Ah!  the  Dutch  mar- 
quetry, the  French  cabinetry,  the  Belgian 
brassware,  the  curious  panellings,  the  oak- 
frames,  the  faience,  the  silver  candlesticks,  the 

97 


98  THE    GHOST 

Amsterdam  toys  in  silver,  the  Antwerp  in- 
cunables,  and  the  famous  tenth-century  illu- 
minated manuscript  in  half-uncials!  Such 
trifles  abounded,  and  in  that  antique  atmos- 
phere they  had  the  quality  of  exquisite  fit- 
ness. 

And  on  the  greenish  waters  of  the  canal 
floated  several  gigantic  swans,  with  insatiable 
and  endless  appetites.  We  used  to  feed  them 
from  the  dining-room  windows,  which  over- 
hung the  canal. 

I  was  glad  to  be  out  of  London,  and  as  the 
days  passed  my  gladness  increased.  I  had  not 
been  pleased  with  myself  in  London.  As  the 
weeks  followed  each  other,  I  had  been  com- 
pelled to  admit  to  myself  that  the  case  of 
Alresca  held  mysteries  for  me,  even  medical 
mysteries.  During  the  first  day  or  two  I  had 
thought  that  I  understood  it,  and  I  had  de- 
spised the  sayings  of  Rosetta  Rosa  in  the  car- 
riage, and  the  misgivings  with  which  my  orig- 
inal examination  of  Alresca  had  inspired  me. 
And  then  I  gradually  perceived  that,  after  all, 
the  misgivings  had  been  justified.  The  man's 
thigh  made  due  progress ;  but  the  man,  slowly 
failing,  lost  interest  in  the  struggle  for  life. 

Here  I  might  proceed  to  a  technical  disser- 


ALRESCA'S  FATE  99 

tation  upon  his  physical  state,  but  it  would  be 
useless.  A  cloud  of  long  words  will  not  cover 
ignorance;  and  I  was  most  emphatically  ig- 
norant. At  least,  such  knowledge  as  I  had  ob- 
tained was  merely  of  a  negative  character.  All 
that  I  could  be  sure  of  was  that  this  was  by  no 
means  an  instance  of  mysterious  disease. 
There  was  no  disease,  as  we  understand  the 
term.  In  particular,  there  was  no  decay  of  the 
nerve-centres.  Alresca  was  well  —  in  good 
health.  What  he  lacked  was  the  will  to  live  — 
that  strange  and  mystic  impulse  which  alone 
divides  us  from  death.  It  was,  perhaps,  hard 
on  a  young  G.  P.  to  be  confronted  by  such  a 
medical  conundrum  at  the  very  outset  of  his 
career;  but,  then,  the  Maker  of  conundrums 
seldom  considers  the  age  and  inexperience  of 
those  who  are  requested  to  solve  them. 

Yes,  this  was  the  first  practical  proof  that 
had  come  to  me  of  the  sheer  empiricism  of 
the  present  state  of  medicine. 

We  had  lived  together  —  Alresca  and  I  — 
peaceably,  quietly,  sadly.  He  appeared  to 
have  ample  means,  and  the  standard  of  luxury 
which  existed  in  his  flat  was  a  high  one.  He 
was  a  connoisseur  in  every  department  of  art 
and  life,  and  took  care  that  he  was  well  served. 


ioo  THE    GHOST 

Perhaps  it  would  be  more  correct  to  say  that 
he  had  once  taken  cere  to  be  well  served,  and 
that  the  custom  primarily  established  went  on 
by  its  own  momentum.  For  he  did  not  exer- 
cise even  such  control  as  a  sick  man  might 
have  been  expected  to  exercise.  He  seemed  to 
be  concerned  with  nothing,  save  that  occasion- 
ally he  would  exhibit  a  flickering  curiosity  as 
to  the  opera  season  which  was  drawing  to  a 
close. 

Unfortunately,  there  was  little  operatic  gos- 
sip to  be  curious  about.  Rosa  had  fulfilled  her 
engagement  and  gone  to  another  capital,  and 
since  her  departure  the  season  had,  perhaps 
inevitably,  fallen  flat.  Of  course,  the  accident 
to  and  indisposition  of  Alresca  had  also  con- 
tributed to  this  end.  And  there  had  been 
another  factor  in  the  case  —  a  factor  which, 
by  the  way,  constituted  the  sole  item  of  news 
capable  of  rousing  Alresca  from  his  torpor.  I 
refer  to  the  disappearance  of  Sir  Cyril  Smart. 

Soon  after  my  cousin  Sullivan's  reception, 
the  papers  had  reported  Sir  Cyril  to  be  ill,  and 
then  it  was  stated  that  he  had  retired  to  a 
remote  Austrian  watering-place  (name  un- 
mentioned)  in  order  to  rest  and  recuperate. 
Certain  weekly  papers  of  the  irresponsible  sort 


ALRESCA'S    FATE  101 

gave  publicity  to  queer  rumors  —  that  Sir 
Cyril  had  fought  a  duel  and  been  wounded,  that 
he  had  been  attacked  one  night  in  the  streets, 
even  that  he  was  dead.  But  these  rumors 
were  generally  discredited,  and  meanwhile  the 
opera  season  ran  its  course  under  the  guidance 
of  Sir  Cyril's  head  man,  Mr.  Nolan,  so  famous 
for  his  diamond  shirt-stud. 

Perhaps  I  could  have  thrown  some  light 
upon  the  obscurity  which  enveloped  the  do- 
ings of  Sir  Cyril  Smart.  But  I  preferred  to 
remain  inactive.  Locked  away  in  my  writing- 
case  I  kept  the  jewelled  dagger  so  mysteri- 
ously found  by  me  outside  the  Devonshire 
Mansion. 

I  had  mentioned  the  incidents  of  that  night 
to  no  one,  and  probably  not  a  soul  on  the 
planet  guessed  that  the  young  doctor  in  at- 
tendance upon  Alresca  had  possession  of  a 
little  toy-weapon  which  formed  a  startling  link 
between  two  existences  supposed  to  be  uncon- 
nected save  in  the  way  of  business  —  those 
of  Sir  Cyril  and  Rosetta  Rosa.  I  hesitated 
whether  to  send  the  dagger  to  Rosa,  and 
finally  decided  that  I  would  wait  until  I  saw 
her  again,  if  ever  that  should  happen,  and  then 
do  as  circumstances  should  dictate.  I  often 


102  THE    GHOST 

wondered  whether  the  silent  man  with  the 
fixed  gaze,  whom  I  had  met  in  Oxford  Street 
that  night,  had  handled  the  dagger,  or 
whether  his  presence  was  a  mere  coincidence. 
To  my  speculations  I  discovered  no  answer. 

Then  the  moment  had  come  when  Alresca's 
thigh  was  so  far  mended  that,  under  special 
conditions,  we  could  travel,  and  one  evening, 
after  a  journey  full  of  responsibilities  for  me, 
we  had  arrived  in  Bruges. 

Soon  afterwards  came  a  slight  alteration. 

Alresca  took  pleasure  in  his  lovely  house, 
and  I  was  aware  of  an  improvement  in  his 
condition.  The  torpor  was  leaving  him,  and 
his  spirits  grew  livelier.  Unfortunately,  it 
was  difficult  to  give  him  outdoor  exercise, 
since  the  roughly  paved  streets  made  driving 
impossible  for  him,  and  he  was  far  from  being 
able  to  walk.  After  a  time  I  contrived  to  hire 
a  large  rowing  boat,  and  on  fine  afternoons 
it  was  our  custom  to  lower  him  from  the  quay 
among  the  swans  into  this  somewhat  un- 
wieldy craft,  so  that  he  might  take  the  air 
as  a  Venetian.  The  idea  tickled  him,  and 
our  progress  along  the  disused  canals  was 
always  a  matter  of  interest  to  the  towns- 
people, who  showed  an  unappeasable  inquis- 


ALRESCA'S    FATE  103 

itiveness  concerning  their  renowned  fellow 
citizen. 

It  was  plain  to  me  that  he  was  recovering; 
that  he  had  lifted  himself  out  of  the  circle  of 
that  strange  influence  under  which  he  had 
nearly  parted  with  his  life.  The  fact  was 
plain  to  me,  but  the  explanation  of  the  fact 
was  not  plain.  I  was  as  much  puzzled  by  his 
rise  as  I  had  been  puzzled  by  his  descent. 
But  that  did  not  prevent  me  from  trying  to 
persuade  myself  that  this  felicitous  change  in 
my  patient's  state  must  be  due,  after  all,  to 
the  results  of  careful  dieting,  a  proper  curric- 
ulum of  daily  existence,  supervision  of  mental 
tricks  and  habits  —  in  short,  of  all  that  mi- 
nute care  and  solicitude  which  only  a  resident 
doctor  can  give  to  a  sick  man. 

One  evening  he  was  especially  alert  and 
gay,  and  I  not  less  so.  We  were  in  the  im- 
mense drawing-room,  which,  like  the  dining- 
room,  overlooked  the  canal.  Dinner  was  fin- 
ished —  we  dined  at  six,  the  Bruges  hour  — 
and  Alresca  lay  on  his  invalid's  couch,  eject- 
ing from  his  mouth  rings  of  the  fine  blue 
smoke  of  a  Javanese  cigar,  a  box  of  which 
I  had  found  at  the  tobacco  shop  kept  by  two 
sisters  at  the  corner  of  the  Grande  Place.  I 


104  THE    GHOST 

stood  at  the  great  central  window,  which  was 
wide  open,  and  watched  the  whiteness  of  the 
swans  moving  vaguely  over  the  surface  of 
the  canal  in  the  oncoming  twilight.  The  air 
was  warm  and  heavy,  and  the  long,  high- 
pitched  whine  of  the  mosquito  swarms  — 
sole  pest  of  the  city  —  had  already  begun. 

"  Alresca,"  I  said,  "  your  days  as  an  invalid 
are  numbered." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"  No  one  who  was  really  an  invalid  could 
possibly  enjoy  that  cigar  as  you  are  enjoy- 
ing it." 

"  A  good  cigar  —  a  glass  of  good  wine,"  he 
murmured,  savoring  the  perfume  of  the  cigar. 
"What  would  life  be  without  them?" 

"  A  few  weeks  ago,  and  you  would  have 
said:  'What  is  life  even  with  them?'" 

"Then  you  really  think  I  am  better?"  he 
smiled. 

"  I'm  sure  of  it." 

"  As  for  me,"  he  returned,  "  I  confess  it. 
That  has  happened  which  I  thought  never 
would  happen.  I  am  once  more  interested  in 
life.  The  wish  to  live  has  come  back.  I  am 
glad  to  be  alive.  Carl,  your  first  case  has 
been  a  success." 


ALRESCA'S    FATE  105 

"  No  thanks  to  me,"  I  said.  "  Beyond  see- 
ing that  you  didn't  displace  the  broken  pieces 
of  your  thigh-bone,  what  have  I  done?  Noth- 
ing. No  one  knows  that  better  than  you 
do." 

"  That's  your  modesty  —  your  incurable 
modesty." 

I  shook  my  head,  and  went  to  stand  by  his 
couch.  I  was  profoundly  aware  then,  despite 
all  the  efforts  of  my  self-conceit  to  convince 
myself  to  the  contrary,  that  I  had  effected 
nothing  whatever  towards  his  recovery,  that 
it  had  accomplished  itself  without  external 
aid.  But  that  did  not  lessen  my  intense  pleas- 
ure in  the  improvement.  By  this  time  I  had 
a  most  genuine  affection  for  Alresca.  The 
rare  qualities  of  the  man  —  his  serenity,  his 
sense  of  justice,  his  invariable  politeness  and 
consideration,  the  pureness  of  his  soul  —  had 
captured  me  completely.  I  was  his  friend. 
Perhaps  I  was  his  best  friend  in  the  world. 
The  singular  circumstances  of  our  coming 
together  had  helped  much  to  strengthen  the 
tie  between  us.  I  glanced  down  at  him,  full 
of  my  affection  for  him,  and  minded  to  take 
advantage  of  the  rights  of  that  affection  for 
once  in  a  way. 


106  THE    GHOST 

"  Alresca,"  I  said  quietly. 

"Well?" 

"What  was  it?" 

"What  was  what?" 

I  met  his  gaze. 

"  What  was  that  thing  that  you  have 
fought  and  driven  off?  What  is  the  mystery 
of  it?  You  know  —  you  must  know.  Tell 


me." 


His  eyelids  fell.     * 

"  Better  to  leave  the  past  alone,"  said  he. 
"  Granting  that  I  had  formed  an  idea,  I  could 
not  put  it  into  proper  words.  I  have  tried  to 
do  so.  In  the  expectation  of  death  I  wrote 
down  certain  matters.  But  these  I  shall  now 
destroy.  I  am  wiser,  less  morbid.  I  can  per- 
ceive that  there  are  fields  of  thought  of  which 
it  is  advisable  to  keep  closed  the  gates.  Do  as 
I  do,  Carl  —  forget.  Take  the  credit  for  my 
recovery,  and  be  content  with  that." 

I  felt  that  he  was  right,  and  resumed  my 
position  near  the  window,  humming  a  tune. 

"  In  a  week  you  may  put  your  foot  to  the 
ground;  you  will  then  no  longer  have  to  be 
carried  about  like  a  parcel."  I  spoke  in  a  cas- 
ual tone. 

"Good!"  he  ejaculated. 


ALRESCA'S    FATE  107 

"  And  then  our  engagement  will  come  to  an 
end,  and  you  will  begin  to  sing  again/' 

"  Ah ! "  he  said  contemplatively,  after  a 
pause,  "  sing!'" 

It  seemed  as  if  singing  was  a  different  mat- 
ter. 

"  Yes,"  I  repeated,  "  sing.  You  must  throw 
yourself  into  that.  It  will  be  the  best  of  all 
tonics." 

"  Have  I  not  told  you  that  I  should  never 
sing  again?  " 

"Perhaps  you  have,"  I  replied;  "but  I 
don't  remember.  And  even  if  you  have,  as 
you  yourself  have  just  said,  you  are  now 
wiser,  less  morbid." 

"True!"  he  murmured.  "Yes,  I  must 
sing.  They  want  me  at  Chicago.  I  will  go, 
and  while  there  I  will  spread  abroad  the  fame 
of  Carl  Foster." 

He  smiled  gaily,  and  then  his  face  became 
meditative  and  sad. 

"  My  artistic  career  has  never  been  far 
away  from  tragedy,"  he  said  at  length.  "  It 
was  founded  on  a  tragedy,  and  not  long  ago 
I  thought  it  would  end  in  one." 

I   waited   in   silence,   knowing   that   if   he 


io8  THE    GHOST 

wished  to  tell  me  any  private  history,  he 
would  begin  of  his  own  accord. 

"You  are  listening,  Carl?" 

I  nodded.     It  was  growing  dusk. 

"  You  remember  I  pointed  out  to  you  the 
other  day  the  little  house  in  the  Rue  d'Os- 
tende  where  my  parents  lived?" 

"  Perfectly." 

(  That,"  he  proceeded,  using  that  curiously 
formal  and  elaborate  English  which  he  must 
have  learned  from  reading-books,  "  that  was 
the  scene  of  the  tragedy  which  made  me  an 
artist.  I  have  told  you  that  my  father  was 
a  schoolmaster.  He  was  the  kindest  of  men, 
but  he  had  moods  of  frightful  severity  — 
moods  which  subsided  as  quickly  as  they 
arose.  At  the  age  of  three,  just  as  I  was 
beginning  to  talk  easily,  I  became,  for  a 
period,  subject  to  fits;  and  in  one  of  these  I 
lost  the  power  of  speech.  I,  Alresca,  could 
make  no  sound;  and  for  seven  years  that 
tenor  whom  in  the  future  people  were  to  call 
'  golden-throated/  and  '  world-famous/  and 
'unrivalled/  had  no  voice."  He  made  a  dep- 
recatory gesture.  "  When  I  think  of  it,  Carl, 
I  can  scarcely  believe  it  —  so  strange  are  the 


ALRESCA'S    FATE  109 

chances  of  life.  I  could  hear  and  understand, 
but  I  could  not  speak. 

"  Of  course,  that  was  forty  years  ago,  and 
the  system  of  teaching  mutes  to  talk  was  not 
then  invented,  or,  at  any  rate,  not  generally 
understood.  So  I  was  known  and  pitied  as 
the  poor  dumb  boy.  I  took  pleasure  in  dumb 
animals,  and  had  for  pets  a  silver-gray  cat, 
a  goat,  and  a  little  spaniel.  One  afternoon  — 
I  should  be  about  ten  years  old  —  my  father 
came  home  from  his  school  and  sitting  down, 
laid  his  head  on  the  table  and  began  to  cry. 
Seeing  him  cry,  I  also  began  to  cry;  I  was 
acutely  sensitive. 

"'What  is  the  matter?'  asked  my  good 
mother. 

"  '  Alas! '  he  said,  '  I  am  a  murderer! ' 

"  '  Nay,  that  cannot  be/  she  replied. 

" '  I  say  it  is  so/  said  my  father.  '  I  have 
murdered  a  child  —  a  little  girl.  I  grumbled 
at  her  yesterday.  I  was  annoyed  and  angry 
—  because  she  had  done  her  lessons  ill.  I 
sent  her  home,  but  instead  of  going  home  she 
went  to  the  outer  canal  and  drowned  herself. 
They  came  and  told  me  this  afternoon.  Yes, 
I  am  a  murderer ! ' 

"  I  howled,  while  my  mother  tried  to  com- 


i  io  THE    GHOST 

fort  my  father,  pointing  out  to  him  that  if  he 
had  spoken  roughly  to  the  child  it  was  done 
for  the  child's  good,  and  that  he  could  not 
possibly  have  foreseen  the  catastrophe.  But 
her  words  were  in  vain. 

"  We  all  went  to  bed.  In  the  middle  of  the 
night  I  heard  my  dear  silver-gray  cat  mewing 
at  the  back  of  the  house.  She  had  been 
locked  out.  I  rose  and  went  down-stairs  to 
let  her  in.  To  do  so  it  was  necessary  for  me 
to  pass  through  the  kitchen.  It  was  quite 
dark,  and  I  knocked  against  something  in  the 
darkness.  With  an  inarticulate  scream,  I 
raced  up-stairs  again  to  my  parents'  bedroom. 
I  seized  my  mother  by  her  night-dress  and 
dragged  her  towards  the  door.  She  stopped 
only  to  light  a  candle,  and  hand-in-hand  we 
went  down-stairs  to  the  kitchen.  The  candle 
threw  around  its  fitful,  shuddering  glare,  and 
my  mother's  eyes  followed  mine.  Some 
strange  thing  happened  in  my  throat. 

"'Mother!'  I  cried,  in  a  hoarse,  uncouth, 
horrible  voice,  and,  casting  myself  against  her 
bosom,  I  clung  convulsively  to  her.  From  a 
hook  in  the  ceiling  beam  my  father's  corpse 
dangled.  He  had  hanged  himself  in  the 


ALRESCA'S  FATE  in 

frenzy  of  his  remorse.  So  my  speech  came 
to  me  again." 

All  the  man's  genius  for  tragic  acting,  that 
genius  which  had  made  him  unique  in  "  Tris- 
tan "  and  in  "  Tannhauser,"  had  been  dis- 
played in  this  recital;  and  its  solitary  auditor 
was  more  moved  by  it  than  superficially  ap- 
peared. Neither  of  us  spoke  a  word  for  a 
few  minutes.  Then  Alresca,  taking  aim, 
threw  the  end  of  his  cigar  out  of  the  window. 

"  Yes,"  I  said  at  length,  "  that  was  tragedy, 
that  was ! " 

He  proceeded: 

"  The  critics  are  always  praising  me  for  the 
emotional  qualities  in  my  singing.  Well,  I 
cannot  use  my  voice  without  thinking  of  the 
dreadful  circumstance  under  which  Fate  saw 
fit  to  restore  that  which  Fate  had  taken 
away." 

And  there  fell  a  long  silence,  and  night  de- 
scended on  the  canal,  and  the  swans  were 
nothing  now  but  pale  ghosts  wandering  sound- 
lessly over  the  water. 

"  Carl,"  Alresca  burst  out  with  a  start  — 
he  was  decidedly  in  a  mood  to  be  communi- 
cative that  evening  —  "  have  you  ever  been 
in  love?" 


H2  THE    GHOST 

In  the  gloom  I  could  just  distinguish  that 
he  was  leaning  his  head  on  his  arm. 

"  No,"  I  answered;  "  at  least,  I  think  not;  " 
and  I  wondered  if  I  had  been,  if  I  was,  in 
love. 

"  You  have  that  which  pleases  women,  you 
know,  and  you  will  have  chances,  plenty  of 
chances.  Let  me  advise  you  —  either  fall  in 
love  young  or  not  at  all.  If  you  have  a  dis- 
appointment before  you  are  twenty-five  it  is 
nothing.  If  you  have  a  disappointment  after 
you  are  thirty-five,  it  is  —  everything." 

He  sighed. 

"  No,  Alresca,"  I  said,  surmising  that  he 
referred  to  his  own  case,  "  not  everything, 
surely?" 

"  You  are  right,"  he  replied.  "  Even  then 
it  is  not  everything.  The  human  soul  is  un- 
conquerable, even  by  love.  But,  nevertheless, 
be  warned.  Do  not  drive  it  late.  Ah!  Why 
should  I  not  confess  to  you,  now  that  all  is 
over?  Carl,  you  are  aware  that  I  have  loved 
deeply.  Can  you  guess  what  being  in  love 
meant  to  me?  Probably  not.  I  am  aging 
now,  but  in  my  youth  I  was  handsome,  and  I 
have  had  my  voice.  Women,  the  richest,  the 
cleverest,  the  kindest  —  they  fling  themselves 


ALRESCA'S    FATE  113 

at  such  as  me.  There  is  no  vanity  in  saying 
so;  it  is  the  simple  fact.  I  might  have  mar- 
ried a  hundred  times;  I  might  have  been 
loved  a  thousand  times.  But  I  remained 

—  as  I  was.     My  heart  slept  like  that  of  a 
young   girl.      I    rejected   alike   the   open   ad- 
vances of  the  bold  and  the  shy,  imperceptible 
signals  of  the  timid.     Women  were  not  for 
me.     In  secret  I  despised  them.     I  really  be- 
lieve I  did. 

"  Then  —  and  it  is  not  yet  two  years  ago 

—  I  met  her  whom  you  know.    And  I  —  I  the 
scorner,  fell  in  love.     All  my  pride,  my  self- 
assurance  crumbled  into  ruin  about  me,  and 
left  me  naked  to  the  torment  of  an  unrequited 
passion.     I  could  not  credit  the  depth  of  my 
misfortune,  and  at  first  it  was  impossible  for 
me  to  believe  that  she  was  serious  in  refusing 
me.      But   she   had   the   right.      She   was    an 
angel,  and  I  only  a  man.     She  was  the  most 
beautiful  woman  in  the  world." 

"  She  was  —  she  is,"  I  said. 

He  laughed  easily. 

"  She  is,"  he  repeated.  "  But  she  is  nothing 
to  me.  I  admire  her  beauty  and  her  good- 
ness, that  is  all.  She  refused  me.  Good!  At 
first  I  rebelled  against  my  fate,  then  I  ac- 


H4  THE    GHOST 

cepted  it."  And  he  repeated:  "Then  I  ac- 
cepted it." 

I  might  have  made  some  reply  to  his  flat- 
tering confidences,  but  I  heard  some  one  walk 
quickly  across  the  foot-path  outside  and 
through  the  wide  entrance  porch.  In  another 
moment  the  door  of  the  salon  was  thrown 
open,  and  a  figure  stood  radiant  and  smiling 
in  the  doorway.  The  antechamber  had  al- 
ready been  lighted,  and  the  figure  was  sil- 
houetted against  the  yellow  radiance. 

"  So  you  are  here,  and  I  have  found  you, 
all  in  the  dark!" 

Alresca  turned  his  head. 

"Rosa!"  he  cried  in  bewilderment,  put  out 
his  arms,  and  then  drew  them  sharply  back 
again. 

It  was  Rosetta.  She  ran  towards  us,  and 
shook  hands  with  kind  expressions  of  greet- 
ing, and  our  eyes  followed  her  as  she  moved 
about,  striking  matches  and  applying  them 
to  candles.  Then  she  took  off  her  hat  and  veil. 

'There!  I  seemed  to  know  the  house,"  she 
said.  "  Immediately  I  had  entered  the  court- 
yard I  felt  that  there  was  a  corridor  running 
to  the  right,  and  at  the  end  of  that  corridor 
some  steps  and  a  landing  and  a  door,  and  on 


ALRESCA'S    FATE  115 

the  other  side  of  that  door  a  large  drawing- 
room.  And  so,  without  ringing  or  waiting 
for  the  faithful  Alexis,  I  came  in." 

"And  what  brings  you  to  Bruges,  dear 
lady?"  asked  Alresca. 

"  Solicitude  for  your  health,  dear  sir,"  she 
replied,  smiling.  "  At  Bayreuth  I  met  that 
quaint  person,  Mrs.  Sullivan  Smith,  who  told 
me  that  you  were  still  here  with  Mr.  Foster; 
and  to-day,  as  I  was  travelling  from  Cologne 
to  Ostend,  the  idea  suddenly  occurred  to  me 
to  spend  one  night  at  Bruges,  and  make  in- 
quiries into  your  condition  —  and  that  of  Mr. 
Foster.  You  know  the  papers  have  been  pub- 
lishing the  most  contradictory  accounts." 

"  Have  they  indeed?  "  laughed  Alresca. 

But  I  could  see  that  he  was  nervous  and 
not  at  ease.  For  myself,  I  was,  it  must  be 
confessed,  enchanted  to  see  Rosa  again,  and 
so  unexpectedly,  and  it  was  amazingly  nice 
of  her  to  include  myself  in  her  inquiries,  and 
yet  I  divined  that  it  would  have  been  better 
if  she  had  never  come.  I  had  a  sense  of  some 
sort  of  calamity. 

Alresca  was  flushed.  He  spoke  in  short, 
hurried  sentences.  Alternately  his  tones  were 
passionate  and  studiously  cold.  Rosa's  lovely 


ii6  THE    GHOST 

presence,  her  musical  chatter,  her  gay  laugh- 
ter, filled  the  room.  She  seemed  to  exhale  a 
delightful  and  intoxicating  atmosphere,  which 
spread  itself  through  the  chamber  and  envel- 
oped the  soul  of  Alresca.  It  was  as  if  he 
fought  against  an  influence,  and  then  gradu- 
ally yielded  to  the  sweetness  of  it.  I  observed 
him  closely  —  for  was  he  not  my  patient?  — 
and  I  guessed  that  a  struggle  was  passing 
within  him.  I  thought  of  what  he  had  just 
been  saying  to  me,  and  I  feared  lest  the 
strong  will  should  be  scarcely  so  strong  as 
it  had  deemed  itself. 

"You  have  dined?"  asked  Alresca. 

"  I  have  eaten,"  she  said.  "  One  does  not 
dine  after  a  day's  travelling." 

"Won't  you  have  some  coffee?" 

She  consented  to  the  coffee,  which  Alexis 
John  Smedley  duly  brought  in,  and  presently 
she  was  walking  lightly  to  and  fro,  holding 
the  tiny  white  cup  in  her  white  hand,  and 
peering  at  the  furniture  and  bric-a-brac  by  the 
light  of  several  candles.  Between  whiles  she 
related  to  Alresca  all  the  news  of  their  ope- 
ratic acquaintances  —  how  this  one  was  mar- 
ried, another  stranded  in  Buenos  Ayres,  an- 
other ill  with  jealousy,  another  ill  with  a  cold, 


ALRESCA'S    FATE  117 

another  pursued  for  debt,  and  so  on  through 
the  diverting  category. 

"And  Smart?"  Alresca  queried  at  length. 

I  had  been  expecting  and  hoping  for  this 
question. 

"Oh,  Sir  Cyril!  I  have  heard  nothing  of 
him.  He  is  not  a  person  that  interests  me." 

She  shut  her  lips  tight  and  looked  suddenly 
across  in  my  direction,  and  our  eyes  met,  but 
she  made  no  sign  that  I  could  interpret.  If 
she  had  known  that  the  little  jewelled  dagger 
lay  in  the  room  over  her  head! 

Her  straw  hat  and  thin  white  veil  lay  on  a 
settee  between  two  windows.  She  picked 
them  up,  and  began  to  pull  the  pins  out  of  the 
hat.  Then  she  put  the  hat  down  again. 

"  I  must  run  away  soon,  Alresca,"  she  said, 
bending  over  him,  "  but  before  I  leave  I 
should  like  to  go  through  the  whole  house. 
It  seems  such  a  quaint  place.  Will  you  let 
Mr.  Foster  show  me?  He  shall  not  be  away 
from  you  long." 

"In  the  dark?" 

"  Why  not  ?    We  can  have  candles." 

And  so,  a  heavy  silver  candlestick  in  either 
hand,  I  presently  found  myself  preceding  Rosa 
up  the  wide  branching  staircase  of  the  house. 


ii8  THE    GHOST 

We  had  left  the  owner  with  a  reading-lamp  at 
the  head  of  his  couch,  and  a  copy  of  "  Ma- 
dame Bovary  "  to  pass  the  time. 

We  stopped  at  the  first  landing  to  examine 
a  picture. 

"  That  mysterious  complaint  that  he  had,  or 
thought  he  had,  in  London  has  left  him,  has  it 
not?"  she  asked  me  suddenly,  in  a  low, 
slightly  apprehensive,  confidential  tone,  mov- 
ing her  head  in  the  direction  of  the  salon 
below. 

For  some  reason  I  hesitated. 

"  He  says  so,"  I  replied  cautiously.  "  At 
any  rate,  he  is  much  better." 

"  Yes,  I  can  see  that.  But  he  is  still  in  a 
very  nervous  condition." 

"Ah,"  I  said,  "that  is  only  —  only  at  cer- 
tain times." 

As  we  went  together  from  room  to  room  I 
forgot  everything  except  the  fact  of  her  pres- 
ence. Never  was  beauty  so  powerful  as  hers ; 
never  was  the  power  of  beauty  used  so  art- 
lessly, with  such  a  complete  unconsciousness. 
I  began  gloomily  to  speculate  on  the  chances 
of  her  ultimately  marrying  Alresca,  and  a  re- 
mark from  her  awoke  me  from  my  abstrac- 
tion. We  were  nearing  the  top  of  the  house. 


ALRESCA'S    FATE  119 

"  It  is  all  familiar  to  me,  in  a  way,"  she 
said. 

"Why,  you  said  the  same  down-stairs. 
Have  you  been  here  before?  " 

"  Never,  to  my  knowledge." 

We  were  traversing  a  long,  broad  passage 
side  by  side.  Suddenly  I  tripped  over  an  un- 
expected single  stair,  and  nearly  fell.  Rosa, 
however,  had  allowed  for  it. 

"  I  didn't  see  that  step,"  I  said. 

"  Nor  I,"  she  answered,  "  but  I  knew,  some- 
how, that  it  was  there.  It  is  very  strange  and 
uncanny,  and  I  shall  insist  on  an  explanation 
from  Alresca."  She  gave  a  forced  laugh. 

As  I  fumbled  with  the  handle  of  the  door 
she  took  hold  of  my  hand. 

"  Listen !  "  she  said  excitedly,  "  this  will  be 
a  small  room,  and  over  the  mantelpiece  is  a 
little  round  picture  of  a  dog." 

I  opened  the  door  with  something  akin  to 
a  thrill.  This  part  of  the  house  was  unfamil- 
iar to  me.  The  room  was  certainly  a  small 
one,  but  there  was  no  little  round  picture  over 
the  mantelpiece.  It  was  a  square  picture,  and 
rather  large,  and  a  sea-piece. 

"You  guessed  wrong,"  I  said,  and  I  felt 
thankful. 


120  THE    GHOST 

"  No,  no,  I  am  sure." 

She  went  to  the  square  picture,  and  lifted 
it  away  from  the  wall. 

"Look!"   she  said. 

Behind  the  picture  was  a  round  whitish 
mark  on  the  wall,  showing  where  another  pic- 
ture had  previously  hung. 

"  Let  us  go,  let  us  go !  I  don't  like  the 
flicker  of  these  candles/'  she  murmured,  and 
she  seized  my  arm. 

We  returned  to  the  corridor.  Her  grip  of 
me  tightened. 

"  Was  not  that  Alresca?  "  she  cried. 

"Where?" 

"At  the  end  of  the  corridor  —  there!" 

"  I  saw  no  one,  and  it  couldn't  have  been  he, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  he  can't  walk  yet, 
not  to  mention  climbing  three  flights  of  stairs. 
You  have  made  yourself  nervous." 

We  descended  to  the  ground-floor.  In  the 
main  hall  Alresca's  housekeeper,  evidently  an 
old  acquaintance,  greeted  Rosa  with  a  curtsy, 
and  she  stopped  to  speak  to  the  woman.  I 
went  on  to  the  salon. 

The  aspect  of  the  room  is  vividly  before  me 
now  as  I  write.  Most  of  the  great  chamber 
was  in  a  candle-lit  gloom,  but  the  reading- 


ALRESCA'S    FATE  121 

lamp  burnt  clearly  at  the  head  of  the  couch, 
throwing  into  prominence  the  fine  profile  of 
Alresca's  face.  He  had  fallen  asleep,  or  at  any 
rate  his  eyes  were  closed.  The  copy  of 
"  Madame  Bovary  "  lay  on  the  floor,  and  near 
it  a  gold  pencil-case.  Quietly  I  picked  the 
book  up,  and  saw  on  the  yellow  cover  of  it 
some  words  written  in  pencil.  These  were 
the  words: 

"  Carl,  I  love  her.  He  has  come  again.  This 
time  it  is " 

I  looked  long  at  his  calm  and  noble  face, 
and  bent  and  listened.  At  that  moment  Rosa 
entered.  Concealing  the  book,  I  held  out  my 
right  hand  with  a  gesture. 

"Softly!"  I  enjoined  her,  and  my  voice 
broke. 

"Why?    What?" 

"  He  is  dead,"  I  said. 

It  did  not  occur  to  me  that  I  ought  to  have 
prepared  her. 


CHAPTER   VII 

'THE   VIGIL   BY   THE   BIER 

We  looked  at  each  other,  Rosa  and  I,  across 
the  couch  of  Alresca. 

All  the  vague  and  terrible  apprehensions, 
disquietudes,  misgivings,  which  the  gradual 
improvement  in  Alresca's  condition  had  lulled 
to  sleep,  aroused  themselves  again  in  my  mind, 
coming,  as  it  were,  boldly  out  into  the  open 
from  the  dark,  unexplored  grottos  wherein 
they  had  crouched  and  hidden.  And  I  went 
back  in  memory  to  those  sinister  days  in  Lon- 
don before  I  had  brought  Alresca  to  Bruges, 
days  over  which  a  mysterious  horror  had 
seemed  to  brood. 

I  felt  myself  adrift  in  a  sea  of  frightful  sus- 
picions. I  remembered  Alresca's  delirium  on 
the  night  of  his  accident,  and  his  final  hallu- 
cination concerning  the  blank  wall  in  the 
dressing-room  (if  hallucination  it  was),  also 
on  that  night.  I  remembered  his  outburst 


THE  VIGIL  BY  THE  BIER  123 
against  Rosetta  Rosa.  I  remembered  Emme- 
line  Smith's  outburst  against  Rosetta  Rosa. 
I  remembered  the  vision  in  the  crystal,  and 
Rosa's  sudden  and  astoundingly  apt  breaking 
in  upon  that  vision.  I  remembered  the  scene 
between  Rosa  and  Sir  Cyril  Smart,  and  her 
almost  hysterical  impulse  to  pierce  her  own 
arm  with  the  little  jewelled  dagger.  I  remem- 
bered the  glint  of  the  dagger  which  drew  my 
attention  to  it  on  the  curb  of  an  Oxford  Street 
pavement  afterwards.  I  remembered  the  dis- 
appearance of  Sir  Cyril  Smart.  I  remembered 
all  the  inexplicable  circumstances  of  Alresca's 
strange  decay,  and  his  equally  strange  recov- 
ery. I  remembered  that  his  recovery  had  coin- 
cided with  an  entire  absence  of  communication 
between  himself  and  Rosa.  .  .  .  And  then  she 
comes !  And  within  an  hour  he  is  dead !  "  I 
love  her.  He  has  come  again.  This  time  it 
is  — "  How  had  Alresca  meant  to  finish 
that  sentence?  "He  has  come  again."  Who 
had  come  again?  Was  there,  then,  another 
man  involved  in  the  enigma  of  this  tragedy? 
Was  it  the  man  I  had  seen  opposite  the  Dev- 
onshire Mansion  on  the  night  when  I  had 
found  the  dagger?  Or  was  "he"  merely  an 
error  for  "  she  "  ?  "I  love  hen  She  has  come 


124  THE    GHOST 

again."  That  would  surely  make  better  sense 
than  what  Alresca  had  actually  written?  And 
he  must  have  been  mentally  perturbed.  Such 
a  slip  was  possible.  No,  no!  When  a  man, 
even  a  dying  man,  is  writing  a  message  which 
he  has  torn  out  of  his  heart,  he  does  not  put 
"  he  "  for  "  she.".  .  .  "  I  love  her.  .  .  ." 
Then,  had  he  misjudged  her  heart  when  he 
confided  in  me  during  the  early  part  of  the 
evening?  Or  had  the  sudden  apparition  of 
Rosa  created  his  love  anew?  Why  had  she 
once  refused  him?  She  seemed  to  be  suffi- 
ciently fond  of  him.  But  she  had  killed  him. 
Directly  or  indirectly  she  had  been  the  cause 
of  his  death. 

And  as  I  looked  at  her,  my  profound  grief 
for  Alresca  made  me  her  judge.  I  forgot  for 
the  instant  the  feelings  with  which  she  had 
once  inspired  me,  and  which,  indeed,  had  never 
died  in  my  soul. 

"How  do  you  explain  this?"  I  demanded 
of  her  in  a  calm  and  judicial  and  yet  slightly 
hostile  tone. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed.  "How  sad  it  is! 
How  terribly  sad !  " 

And  her  voice  was  so  pure  and  kind,  and 
her  glance  so  innocent,  and  her  grief  so  pitiful, 


THE    VIGIL    BY   THE    BIER      125 

that  I  dismissed  forever  any  shade  of  a  sus- 
picion that  I  might  have  cherished  against 
her.  Although  she  had  avoided  my  question, 
although  she  had  ignored  its  tone,  I  knew  with 
the  certainty  of  absolute  knowledge  that  she 
had  no  more  concern  in  Alresca's  death  than 
I  had. 

She  came  forward  and  regarded  the  corpse 
steadily,  and  took  the  lifeless  hand  in  her 
hand.  But  she  did  not  cry.  Then  she  went 
abruptly  out  of  the  room  and  out  of  the 
house.  And  for  several  days  I  did  not  see 
her.  A  superb  wreath  arrived  with  her  card, 
and  that  was  all. 

But  the  positive  assurance  that  she  was 
entirely  unconnected  with  the  riddle  did  noth- 
ing to  help  me  to  solve  it.  I  had,  however, 
to  solve  it  for  the  Belgian  authorities,  and  I 
did  so  by  giving  a  certificate  that  Alresca  had 
died  of  "  failure  of  the  heart's  action."  A 
convenient  phrase,  whose  convenience  im- 
poses perhaps  oftener  than  may  be  imagined 
on  persons  of  an  unsuspecting  turn  of  mind! 
And  having  accounted  for  Alresca's  death  to 
the  Belgian  authorities,  I  had  no  leisure  (save 
during  the  night)  to  cogitate  much  upon  the 
mystery.  For  I  was  made  immediately  to 


126  THE    GHOST 

realize,  to  an  extent  to  which  I  had  not  real- 
ized before,  how  great  a  man  Alresca  was, 
and  how  large  he  bulked  in  the  world's  eye. 

The  first  announcement  of  his  demise  ap- 
peared in  the  "  Etoile  Belgi,"  the  well-known 
Brussels  daily,  and  from  the  moment  of  its 
appearance  letters,  telegrams,  and  callers  de- 
scended upon  Alresca's  house  in  an  unending 
stream.  As  his  companion  I  naturally  gave 
the  whole  of  my  attention  to  his  affairs,  espe- 
cially as  he  seemed  to  have  no  relatives  what- 
ever. Correspondents  of  English,  French, 
and  German  newspapers  flung  themselves 
upon  me  in  the  race  for  information.  They 
seemed  to  scent  a  mystery,  but  I  made  it  my 
business  to  discourage  such  an  idea.  Nay,  I 
went  further,  and  deliberately  stated  to  them, 
with  a  false  air  of  perfect  candor,  that  there 
was  no  foundation  of  any  sort  for  such  an 
idea.  Had  not  Alresca  been  indisposed  for 
months?  Had  he  not  died  from  failure  of  the 
heart's  action?  There  was  no  reason  why  I 
should  have  misled  these  excellent  journalists 
in  their  search  for  the  sensational  truth,  ex- 
cept that  I  preferred  to  keep  the  mystery 
wholly  to  myself. 

Those  days   after  the  death  recur  to  me 


THE    VIGIL    BY    THE    BIER      127 

now  as  a  sort  of  breathless  nightmare,  in 
which,  aided  by  the  admirable  Alexis,  I  was 
forever  despatching  messages  and  uttering 
polite  phrases  to  people  I  had  never  seen 
before. 

I  had  two  surprises,  one  greater  and  one 
less.  In  the  first  place,  the  Anglo-Belgian 
lawyer  whom  I  had  summoned  informed  me, 
after  Alresca's  papers  had  been  examined  and 
certain  effects  sealed  in  the  presence  of  an 
official,  that  my  friend  had  made  a  will,  bear- 
ing a  date  immediately  before  our  arrival  in 
Bruges,  leaving  the  whole  of  his  property  to 
me,  and  appointing  me  sole  executor.  I  have 
never  understood  why  Alresca  did  this,  and  I 
have  always  thought  that  it  was  a  mere  kind 
caprice  on  his  part. 

The  second  surprise  was  a  visit  from  the 
Burgomaster  of  the  city.  He  came  clothed  in 
his  official  robes.  It  was  a  call  of  the  most 
rigid  ceremony.  Having  condoled  with  me 
and  also  complimented  me  upon  my  succes- 
sion to  the  dead  man's  estate,  he  intimated 
that  the  city  desired  a  public  funeral.  For  a 
moment  I  was  averse  to  this,  but  as  I  could 
advance  no  argument  against  it  I  concurred  in 
the  proposal. 


128  THE    GHOST 

There  was  a  lying-in-state  of  the  body  at 
the  cathedral,  and  the  whole  city  seemed  to 
go  in  mourning.  On  the  second  day  a  priest 
called  at  the  house  on  the  Quai  des  Augustins, 
and  said  that  he  had  been  sent  by  the  Bishop 
to  ask  if  I  cared  to  witness  the  lying-in-state 
from  some  private  vantage-ground.  I  went 
to  the  cathedral,  and  the  Bishop  himself  es- 
corted me  to  the  organ-loft,  whence  I  could 
see  the  silent  crowds  move  slowly  in  pairs 
past  Alresca's  bier,  which  lay  in  the  chancel. 
It  was  an  impressive  sight,  and  one  which  I 
shall  not  forget. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  preceding  the 
funeral  the  same  priest  came  to  me  again,  and 
I  received  him  in  the  drawing-room,  where  I 
was  writing  a  letter  to  Totnes.  He  was  an 
old  man,  a  very  old  man,  with  a  quavering 
voice,  but  he  would  not  sit  down. 

"  It  has  occurred  to  the  Lord  Bishop,"  he 
piped,  "  that  monsieur  has  not  been  offered 
the  privilege  of  watching  by  the  bier." 

The  idea  startled  me,  and  I  was  at  a  loss 
what  to  say. 

*  The  Lord  Bishop  presents  his  profound 
regrets,  and  will  monsieur  care  to  watch?" 


THE    VIGIL    BY    THE    BIER      129 

I  saw  at  once  that  a  refusal  would  have 
horrified  the  ecclesiastic. 

"  I  shall  regard  it  as  an  honor,"  I  said. 
"When?" 

"  From  midnight  to  two  o'clock,"  answered 
the  priest.  "  The  later  watches  are  arranged." 

"  It  is  understood,"  I  said,  after  a  pause. 

And  the  priest  departed,  charged  with  my 
compliments  to  the  Lord  Bishop. 

I  had  a  horror  of  the  duty  which  had  been 
thrust  upon  me.  It  went  against  not  merely 
my  inclinations  but  my  instincts.  However, 
there  was  only  one  thing  to  do,  and  of  course 
I  did  it. 

At  five  minutes  to  twelve  I  was  knocking 
at  the  north  door  of  the  cathedral.  A  sacris- 
tan, who  carried  in  his  hand  a  long  lighted 
taper,  admitted  me  at  once.  Save  for  this 
taper  and  four  candles  which  stood  at  the 
four  corners  of  the  bier,  the  vast  interior  was 
in  darkness. 

The  sacristan  silently  pointed  to  the  chan- 
cel, and  I  walked  hesitatingly  across  the 
gloomy  intervening  space,  my  footsteps  echo- 
ing formidably  in  the  silence.  Two  young 
priests  stood,  one  at  either  side  of  the  lofty 
bier.  One  of  them  bowed  to  me,  and  I  took 


130  THE    GHOST 

his  place.  He  disappeared  into  the  ambula- 
tory. The  other  priest  was  praying  for  the 
dead,  a  slight  frown  on  his  narrow  white 
brow.  His  back  was  half-turned  towards  the 
corpse,  and  he  did  not  seem  to  notice  me  in 
any  way. 

I  folded  my  arms,  and  as  some  relief  from 
the  uncanny  and  troublous  thoughts  which 
ran  in  my  head  I  looked  about  me.  I  could 
not  bring  myself  to  gaze  on  the  purple  cloth 
which  covered  the  remains  of  Alresca.  We 
were  alone  —  the  priest,  Alresca,  and  I  —  and 
I  felt  afraid.  In  vain  I  glanced  round,  in 
order  to  reassure  myself,  at  the  stained-glass 
windows,  now  illumined  by  September  star- 
light, at  the  beautiful  carving  of  the  choir- 
stalls,  at  the  ugly  rococo  screen.  I  was  afraid, 
and  there  was  no  disguising  my  fear. 

Suddenly  the  clock  chimes  of  the  belfry 
rang  forth  with  startling  resonance,  and 
twelve  o'clock  struck  upon  the  stillness.  Then 
followed  upon  the  bells  a  solemn  and  funereal 
melody. 

"How  comes  that?"  I  asked  the  priest, 
without  stopping  to  consider  whether  I  had 
the  right  to  speak  during  my  vigil. 

"  It  is  the  carilloneur,"  my  fellow  watcher 


THE    VIGIL    BY    THE    BIER      131 

said,  interrupting  his  whispered  and  sibilant 
devotions,  and  turning  to  me,  as  it  seemed, 
unwillingly.  "  Have  you  not  heard  it  before? 
Every  evening  since  the  death  he  has  played 
it  at  midnight  in  memory  of  Alresca."  Then 
he  resumed  his  office. 

The  minutes  passed,  or  rather  crawled  by, 
and,  if  anything,  my  uneasiness  increased.  I 
suffered  all  the  anxieties  and  tremors  which 
those  suffer  who  pass  wakeful  nights,  imag- 
ining every  conceivable  ill,  and  victimized  by 
the  most  dreadful  forebodings.  Through  it 
all  I  was  conscious  of  the  cold  of  the  stone 
floor  penetrating  my  boots  and  chilling  my 
feet.  .  .  . 

The  third  quarter  after  one  struck,  and  I 
began  to  congratulate  myself  that  the  ordeal 
by  the  bier  was  coming  to  an  end.  I  looked 
with  a  sort  of  bravado  into  the  dark,  shad- 
owed distances  of  the  fane,  and  smiled  at  my 
nameless  trepidations.  And  then,  as  my 
glance  sought  to  penetrate  the  gloom  of  the 
great  western  porch,  I  grew  aware  that  a  man 
stood  there.  I  wished  to  call  the  attention 
of  the  priest  to  this  man,  but  I  could  not  — 
I  could  not. 

He  came  very  quietly  out  of  the  porch,  and 


132  THE    GHOST 

walked  with  hushed  footfall  up  the  nave;  he 
mounted  the  five  steps  to  the  chancel;  he 
approached  us;  he  stood  at  the  foot  of  the 
bier;  he  was  within  a  yard  of  me.  The  priest 
had  his  back  to  him.  The  man  seemed  to 
ignore  me;  he  looked  fixedly  at  the  bier. 
But  I  knew  him.  I  knew  that  fine,  hard, 
haughty  face,  that  stiff  bearing,  that  implac- 
able eye.  It  was  the  man  whom  I  had  seen 
standing  under  the  trees  opposite  the  Devon- 
shire Mansion  in  London. 

For  a  few  moments  his  countenance  showed 
no  emotion.  Then  the  features  broke  into  an 
expression  of  indescribable  malice.  With  ges- 
tures of  demoniac  triumph  he  mocked  the 
solemnity  of  the  bier,  and  showered  upon  it 
every  scornful  indignity  that  the  human  face 
can  convey. 

I  admit  that  I  was  spellbound  with  aston- 
ishment and  horror.  I  ought  to  have  seized 
the  author  of  the  infamous  sacrilege  —  I 
ought,  at  any  rate,  to  have  called  to  the  priest 
—  but  I  could  do  neither.  I  trembled  before 
this  mysterious  man.  My  frame  literally 
shook.  I  knew  what  fear  was.  I  was  a 
coward. 

At  length  he  turned  away,  casting  at  me  as 


THE    VIGIL    BY   THE    BIER      133 

he  did  so  one  indefinable  look,  and  with  slow 
dignity  passed  again  down  the  length  of  the 
nave  and  disappeared.  Then,  and  not  till  then, 
I  found  my  voice  and  my  courage.  I  pulled 
the  priest  by  the  sleeve  of  his  cassock. 

"  Some  one  has  just  been  in  the  cathedral/' 
I  said  huskily.  And  I  told  him  what  I  had 
seen. 

"  Impossible!  Retro  me,  Sathanas!  It  was 
imagination." 

His  tone  was  dry,  harsh. 

"  No,  no,"  I  said  eagerly.  "  I  assure 
you " 

He  smiled  incredulously,  and  repeated  the 
word  "  Imagination !  " 

But  I  well  knew  that  it  was  not  imagina- 
tion, that  I  had  actually  seen  this  man  enter 
and  go  forth. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE   MESSAGE 

When  I  returned  to  Alresca's  house  —  or 
rather,  I  should  say,  to  my  own  house  —  after 
the  moving  and  picturesque  ceremony  of  the 
funeral,  I  found  a  note  from  Rosetta  Rosa, 
asking  me  to  call  on  her  at  the  Hotel  du  Com- 
merce. This  was  the  first  news  of  her  that 
I  had  had  since  she  so  abruptly  quitted  the 
scene  of  Alresca's  death.  I  set  off  instantly 
for  the  hotel,  and  just  as  I  was  going  I  met 
my  Anglo-Belgian  lawyer,  who  presented  to 
me  a  large  envelope  addressed  to  myself  in 
the  handwriting  of  Alresca,  and  marked 
"  private."  The  lawyer,  who  had  been  en- 
gaged in  the  sorting  and  examination  of  an 
enormous  quantity  of  miscellaneous  papers 
left  by  Alresca,  informed  me  that  he  only 
discovered  the  package  that  very  afternoon. 
I  took  the  packet,  put  it  in  my  pocket,  and 
continued  on  my  way  to  Rosa.  It  did  not 

134 


THE    MESSAGE  135 

occur  to  me  at  the  time,  but  it  occurred  to 
me  afterwards,  that  I  was  extremely  anxious 
to  see  her  again. 

Every  one  who  has  been  to  Bruges  knows 
the  Hotel  du  Commerce.  It  is  the  Ritz  of 
Bruges,  and  very  well  aware  of  its  own  im- 
portance in  the  scheme  of  things.  As  I 
entered  the  courtyard  a  waiter  came  up  to  me. 

"  Excuse   me,   monsieur,  but  we   have   no 


rooms." 


'  Why  do  you  tell  me  that?  " 

"  Pardon.  I  thought  monsieur  wanted  a 
room.  Mademoiselle  Rosa,  the  great  diva,  is 
staying  here,  and  all  the  English  from  the 
Hotel  du  Panier  d'Or  have  left  there  in  order 
to  be  in  the  same  hotel  with  Mademoiselle 
Rosa." 

Somewhere  behind  that  mask  of  profes- 
sional servility  there  was  a  smile. 

"  I  do  not  want  a  room,"  I  said,  "  but  I 
want  to  see  Mademoiselle  Rosa." 

"  Ah !  As  to  that,  monsieur,  I  will  inquire." 
He  became  stony  at  once. 

"  Stay.     Take  my  card." 

He  accepted  it,  but  with  an  air  which  im- 
plied that  every  one  left  a  card. 

In  a  moment  another  servant  came  forth, 


136  THE    GHOST 

breathing  apologies,  and  led  me  to  Rosa's 
private  sitting-room.  As  I  went  in  a  young- 
ish, dark-eyed,  black-aproned  woman,  who,  I 
had  no  doubt,  was  Rosa's  maid,  left  the 
room. 

Rosa  and  I  shook  hands  in  silence,  and  with 
a  little  diffidence.  Wrapped  in  a  soft,  black, 
thin-textured  tea-gown,  she  reclined  in  an 
easy-chair.  Her  beautiful  face  was  a  dead 
white;  her  eyes  were  dilated,  and  under  them 
were  dark  semicircles. 

"  You  have  been  ill,"  I  exclaimed,  "  and  I 
was  not  told." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  in  denial,  and 
shivered. 

"  No,"  she  said  shortly.  There  was  a  pause. 
"He  is  buried?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Let  me  hear  about  it." 

I  wished  to  question  her  further  about  her 
health,  but  her  tone  was  almost  imperious, 
and  I  had  a  curious  fear  of  offending  her. 
Nevertheless  I  reminded  myself  that  I  was  a 
doctor,  and  my  concern  for  her  urged  me  to 
be  persistent. 

"  But  surely  you  have  been  ill  ?  "  I  said. 

She  tapped  her  foot.    It  was  the  first  symp- 


THE    MESSAGE  137 

torn  of  nervous  impatience  that  I  had  ob- 
served in  her. 

"  Not  in  body,"  she  replied  curtly.  "  Tell 
me  all  about  the  funeral." 

And  I  gave  her  an  account  of  the  impres- 
sive incidents  of  the  interment  —  the  stately 
procession,  the  grandiose  ritual,  the  symbols 
of  public  grief.  She  displayed  a  strange,  mor- 
bid curiosity  as  to  it  all. 

And  then  suddenly  she  rose  up  from  her 
chair,  and  I  rose  also,  and  she  demanded,  as 
it  were  pushed  by  some  secret  force  to  the 
limit  of  her  endurance: 

"You  loved  him,  didn't  you,  Mr.  Foster?" 

It  was  not  an  English  phrase;  no  English- 
woman would  have  used  it. 

"  I  was  tremendously  fond  of  him,"  I  an- 
swered. "  I  should  never  have  thought  that 
I  could  have  grown  so  fond  of  any  one  in  such 
a  short  time.  He  wasn't  merely  fine  as  an 
artist ;  he  was  so  fine  as  a  man." 

She  nodded. 

"You  understood  him?  You  knew  all 
about  him?  He  talked  to  you  openly,  didn't 
he?" 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "He  used  to  tell  me  all 
kinds  of  things," 


138  THE    GHOST 

"  Then  explain  to  me/'  she  cried  out,  and 
I  saw  that  tears  brimmed  in  her  eyes,  "  why 
did  he  die  when  I  came?  " 

"  It  was  a  coincidence,"  I  said  lamely. 

Seizing  my  hands,  she  actually  fell  on  her 
knees  before  me,  flashing  into  my  eyes  all  the 
loveliness  of  her  pallid,  upturned  face. 

"It  was  not  a  coincidence!"  she  passion- 
ately sobbed.  "  Why  can't  you  be  frank  with 
me,  and  tell  me  how  it  is  that  I  have  killed 
him  ?  He  said  long  ago  —  do  you  not  remem- 
ber?—  that  I  was  fatal  to  him.  He  was  get- 
ting better  —  you  yourself  said  so  —  till  I 
came,  and  then  he  died." 

What  could  I  reply?  The  girl  was  uttering 
the  thoughts  which  had  haunted  me  for  days. 

I  tried  to  smile  a  reassurance,  and  raising 
her  as  gently  as  I  could,  I  led  her  back  to  her 
chair.  It  was  on  my  part  a  feeble  perform- 
ance. 

"  You  are  suffering  from  a  nervous  crisis," 
I  said,  "  and  I  must  prescribe  for  you.  My 
first  prescription  is  that  we  do  not  talk  about 
Alresca's  death." 

I  endeavored  to  be  perfectly  matter-of-fact 
in  tone,  and  gradually  she  grew  calmer. 

"  I  have  not   slept   since  that   night,"   she 


THE    MESSAGE  139 

murmured  wearily.  "  Then  you  will  not  tell 
me?" 

"  What  have  I  to  tell  you,  except  that  you 
are  ill?  Stop  a  moment.  I  have  an  item  of 
news,  after  all.  Poor  Alresca  has  made  me 
his  heir." 

"  That  was  like  his  kind  heart." 

"  Yes,  indeed.  But  I  can't  imagine  why  he 
did  it!" 

"  It  was  just  gratitude,"  said  she. 

"A  rare  kind  of  gratitude,"  I  replied. 

"Is  no  reason  given  in  the  will?" 

"  Not  a  word." 

I  remembered  the  packet  which  I  had  just 
received  from  the  lawyer,  and  I  mentioned  it 
to  her. 

"  Open  it  now,"  she  said.  "  I  am  interested 
—  if  you  do  not  think  me  too  inquisitive." 

I  tore  the  envelope.  It  contained  another 
envelope,  sealed,  and  a  letter.  I  scanned  the 
letter. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  I  said  with  false  casual- 
ness,  and  was  returning  it  to  my  pocket.  The 
worst  of  me  is  that  I  have  no  histrionic  in- 
stinct; I  cannot  act  a  part. 

"  Wait ! "  she  cried  sharply,  and  I  hesitated 
before  the  appeal  in  her  tragic  voice.  "  You 


140  THE    GHOST 

cannot  deceive  me,  Mr.  Foster.  It  is  some- 
thing. I  entreat  you  to  read  to  me  that  letter. 
Does  it  not  occur  to  you  that  I  have  the  right 
to  demand  this  from  you?  Why  should  he 
beat  about  the  bush?  You  know,  and  I  know 
that  you  know,  that  there  is  a  mystery  in  this 
dreadful  death.  Be  frank  with  me,  my  friend. 
I  have  suffered  much  these  last  days." 

We  looked  at  each  other  silently,  I  with  the 
letter  in  my  hand.  Why,  indeed,  should  I 
treat  her  as  a  child,  this  woman  with  the  com- 
pelling eyes,  the  firm,  commanding  forehead? 
Why  should  I  pursue  the  silly  game  of  pre- 
tence? 

"I  will  read  it,"  I  said.  "There  is,  cer- 
tainly, a  mystery  in  connection  with  Alresca's 
death,  and  we  may  be  on  the  eve  of  solving 


it." 


The  letter  was  dated  concurrently  with  Al- 
resca's will  —  that  is  to  say,  a  few  days  before 
our  arrival  in  Bruges  —  and  it  ran  thus : 

"My  dear  Friend:  —  It  seems  to  me  that 
I  am  to  die,  and  from  a  strange  cause  —  for 
I  believe  I  have  guessed  the  cause.  The  na- 
ture of  my  guess  and  all  the  circumstances  I 
have  written  out  at  length,  and  the  document 


THE    MESSAGE  141 

is  in  the  sealed  packet  which  accompanies 
this.  My  reason  for  making  such  a  record  is 
a  peculiar  one.  I  should  desire  that  no  eye 
might  ever  read  that  document.  But  I  have 
an  idea  that  some  time  or  other  the  record 
may  be  of  use  to  you  —  possibly  soon.  You, 
Carl,  may  be  the  heir  of  more  than  my  goods. 
If  matters  should  so  fall  out,  then  break  the 
seal,  and  read  what  I  have  written.  If  not, 
I  beg  of  you,  after  five  years  have  elapsed,  to 
destroy  the  packet  unread.  I  do  not  care  to 
be  more  precise.  Always  yours, 

"  Alresca." 

"That  is  all?"  asked  Rosa,  when  I  had 
finished  reading  it. 

I  passed  her  the  letter  to  read  for  herself. 
Her  hand  shook  as  she  returned  it  to  me. 

And  we  both  blushed.  We  were  both  con- 
fused, and  each  avoided  the  glance  of  the 
other.  The  silence  between  us  was  difficult  to 
bear.  I  broke  it. 

"The  question  is,  What  am  I  to  do?  Al- 
resca is  dead.  Shall  I  respect  his  wish,  or 
shall  I  open  the  packet  now?  If  he  could 
have  foreseen  your  anxiety,  he  probably 
would  not  have  made  these  conditions.  Be- 


142  THE    GHOST 

sides,  who  can  say  that  the  circumstances  he 
hints  at  have  not  already  arisen?  Who  can 
say  "  —  I  uttered  the  words  with  an  empha- 
sis the  daring  of  which  astounded  even  my- 
self — "  that  I  am  not  already  the  heir  of 
more  than  Alresca's  goods  ?  " 

I  imagined,  after  achieving  this  piece  of 
audacity,  that  I  was  perfectly  calm,  but 
within  me  there  must  have  raged  such  a 
tumult  of  love  and  dark  foreboding  that  in 
reality  I  could  scarcely  have  known  what  I 
was  about. 

Rosa's  eyes  fixed  themselves  upon  me,  but 
I  sustained  that  gaze.  She  stretched  forth  a 
hand  as  if  to  take  the  packet. 

"  You  shall  decide,"  I  said.  "  Am  I  to  open 
it,  or  am  I  not  to  open  it  ?  " 

"Open  it,"  she  whispered.  "He  will  for- 
give us." 

I  began  to  break  the  seal. 

"  No,  no !  "  she  screamed,  standing  up  again 
with  clenched  hands.  "  I  was  wrong.  Leave 
it,  for  God's  sake!  I  could  not  bear  to  know 
the  truth." 

I,  too,  sprang  up,  electrified  by  that  terrible 
outburst.  Grasping  tight  the  envelope,  I 
walked  to  and  fro  in  the  room,  stamping  on 


THE   MESSAGE  143 

the  carpet,  and  wondering  all  the  time  (in 
one  part  of  my  brain)  why  I  should  be  mak- 
ing such  a  noise  with  my  feet.  At  length  I 
faced  her.  She  had  not  moved.  She  stood 
like  a  statue,  her  black  tea-gown  falling  about 
her,  and  her  two  hands  under  her  white 
drawn  face. 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  I  said.  "  I  won't 
open  it." 

And  I  put  the  envelope  back  into  my  pocket. 

We  both  sat  down. 

"Let  us  have  some  tea,  eh?"  said  Rosa. 
She  had  resumed  her  self-control  more  quickly 
than  I  could.  I  was  unable  to  answer  her 
matter-of-fact  remark.  She  rang  the  bell,  and 
the  maid  entered  with  tea.  The  girl's  fea- 
tures struck  me;  they  showed  both  wit  and 
cunning. 

"What  splendid  tea!"  I  said,  when  the 
refection  was  in  progress.  We  had  both 
found  it  convenient  to  shelter  our  feelings 
behind  small  talk.  "  I'd  no  idea  you  could 
get  tea  like  this  in  Bruges." 

"  You  can't,"  Rosa  smiled.  "  I  never  travel 
without  my  own  brand.  It  is  one  of  Yvette's 
special  cares  not  to  forget  it." 

"Your  maid?" 


144  THE    GHOST 

"  Yes." 

"  She  seems  not  quite  the  ordinary  maid," 
I  ventured. 

"Yvette?  No!  I  should  think  not.  She 
has  served  half  the  sopranos  in  Europe  —  she 
won't  go  to  contraltos.  I  possess  her  because 
I  outbid  all  rivals  for  her  services.  As  a  hair- 
dresser she  is  unequalled.  And  it's  so  much 
nicer  not  being  forced  to  call  in  a  coiffeur  in 
every  town!  It  was  she  who  invented  my 
'  Elsa  '  coiffure.  Perhaps  you  remember  it?" 

"  Perfectly.  By  the  way,  when  do  you  re- 
commence your  engagements?" 

She  smiled  nervously.  "I  —  I  haven't  de- 
cided." 

Nothing  with  any  particle  of  significance 
passed  during  the  remainder  of  our  interview. 
Telling  her  that  I  was  leaving  for  England 
the  next  day,  I  bade  good-by  to  Rosa.  She 
did  not  express  the  hope  of  seeing  me  again, 
and  for  some  obscure  reason,  buried  in  the 
mysteries  of  love's  psychology,  I  dared  not 
express  the  hope  to  her.  And  so  we  parted, 
with  a  thousand  things  unsaid,  on  a  note  of 
ineffectually,  of  suspense,  of  vague  indefinite- 
ness. 

And  the  next  morning  I  received  from  her 


THE    MESSAGE  145 

this  brief  missive,  which  threw  me  into  a  wild 
condition  of  joyous  expectancy:  "If  you 
could  meet  me  in  the  Church  of  St.  Gilles 
at  eleven  o'clock  this  morning,  I  should  like 
to  have  your  advice  upon  a  certain  matter.  — 
Rosa." 

Seventy-seven  years  elapsed  before  eleven 
o'clock. 

St.  Gilles  is  a  large  church  in  a  small  de- 
serted square  at  the  back  of  the  town.  I 
waited  for  Rosa  in  the  western  porch,  and  at 
five  minutes  past  the  hour  she  arrived,  look- 
ing better  in  health,  at  once  more  composed 
and  vivacious.  We  sat  down  in  a  corner  at 
the  far  end  of  one  of  the  aisles.  Except  our- 
selves and  a  couple  of  cleaners,  there  seemed 
to  be  no  one  in  the  church. 

"  You  asked  me  yesterday  about  my  en- 
gagements," she  began. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  and  I  had  a  reason.  As  a 
doctor,  I  will  take  leave  to  tell  you  that  it  is 
advisable  for  you  to  throw  yourself  into  your 
work  as  soon  as  possible,  and  as  completely 
as  possible."  And  I  remembered  the  similar 
advice  which,  out  of  the  plenitude  of  my 
youthful  wisdom,  I  had  offered  to  Alresca 
only  a  few  days  before. 


146  THE    GHOST 

"  The  fact  is  that  I  have  signed  a  contract 
to  sing  '  Carmen '  at  the  Paris  Opera  Co- 
mique  in  a  fortnight's  time.  I  have  never 
sung  the  role  there  before,  and  I  am,  or  rather 
I  was,  very  anxious  to  do  so.  This  morning 
I  had  a  telegram  from  the  manager  urging 
me  to  go  to  Paris  without  delay  for  the  re- 
hearsals." 

"  And  are  you  going?  " 

"  That  is  the  question.  I  may  tell  you  that 
one  of  my  objects  in  calling  on  poor  Alresca 
was  to  consult  him  about  the  point.  The 
truth  is,  I  am  threatened  with  trouble  if  I 
appear  at  the  Opera  Comique,  particularly  in 
'  Carmen/  The  whole  matter  is  paltry  be- 
yond words,  but  really  I  am  a  little  afraid." 

"  May  I  hear  the  story?  " 

"  You  know  Carlotta  Deschamps,  who  al- 
.ways  takes  Carmen  at  the  Comique?" 

"  I've  heard  her  sing." 

"  By  the  way,  that  is  her  half-sister,  Marie 
Deschamps,  who  sings  in  your  cousin's  op- 
eras at  the  London  Diana." 

"  I  have  made  the  acquaintance  of  Marie  — 
a  harmless  little  thing!" 

"Her  half-sister  isn't  quite  so  harmless. 
She  is  the  daughter  of  a  Spanish  mother, 


THE    MESSAGE  147 

while  Marie  is  the  daughter  of  an  English 
mother,  a  Cockney  woman.  As  to  Carlotta, 
when  I  was  younger"  —  oh,  the  deliciously 
aged  air  with  which  this  creature  of  twenty- 
three  referred  to  her  youth  —  "I  was  singing 
at  the  Opera  Comique  in  Paris,  where  Car- 
lotta was  starring,  and  I  had  the  misfortune 
to  arouse  her  jealousy.  She  is  frightfully 
jealous,  and  get  worse  as  she  gets  older.  She 
swore  to  me  that  if  I  ever  dared  to  appear 
at  the  Comique  again  she  would  have  me 
killed.  I  laughed.  I  forgot  the  affair,  but 
it  happens  that  I  never  have  sung  at  the 
Comique  since  that  time.  And  now  that  I 
am  not  merely  to  appear  at  the  Comique,  but 
am  going  to  sing  '  Carmen '  there,  her  own 
particular  rdle,  Deschamps  is  furious.  I 
firmly  believe  she  means  harm.  Twice  she 
has  written  to  me  the  most  formidable  threats. 
It  seems  strange  that  I  should  stand  in  awe 
of  a  woman  like  Carlotta  Deschamps,  but  so 
it  is.  I  am  half-inclined  to  throw  up  the 
engagement." 

That  a  girl  of  Rosa's  spirit  should  have 
hesitated  for  an  instant  about  fulfilling  her 
engagement  showed  most  plainly,  I  thought, 
that  she  was  not  herself.  I  assured  her  that 


148  THE    GHOST 

her  fears  were  groundless,  that  we  lived  in 
the  nineteenth  century,  and  that  Deschamps' 
fury  would  spend  itself  in  nothing  worse  than 
threats.  In  the  end  she  said  she  would  recon- 
sider the  matter. 

"  Don't  wait  to  reconsider,"  I  urged,  "  but 
set  off  for  Paris  at  once.  Go  to-day.  Act. 
It  will  do  you  good." 

"  But  there  are  a  hundred  things  to  be 
thought  of  first,"  she  said,  laughing  at  my 
earnestness. 

"  For  example?  " 

"  Well,  my  jewels  are  with  my  London 
bankers." 

"Can't  you  sing  without  jewels?" 

"  Not  in  Paris.  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a 
thing?" 

"  You  can  write  to  your  bankers  to  send 
them  by  registered  post." 

"  Post !  They  are  worth  thousands  and 
thousands  of  pounds.  I  ought  really  to  fetch 
them,  but  there  would  scarcely  be  time." 

"Let  me  bring  them  to  you  in  Paris,"  I 
said.  "  Give  me  a  letter  to  your  bankers,  and 
I  will  undertake  to  deliver  the  jewels  safely 
into  your  hands." 


THE    MESSAGE  149 

"I  could  not  dream  of  putting  you  to  so 
much  trouble." 

The  notion  of  doing  something  for  her  had, 
however,  laid  hold  of  me.  At  that  moment 
I  felt  that  to  serve  even  as  her  jewel-carrier 
would  be  for  me  the  supreme  happiness  in 
the  world. 

"  But/'  I  said,  "  I  ask  it  as  a  favor." 

"Do  you?"  She  gave  me  a  divine  smile, 
and  yielded. 

At  her  request  we  did  not  leave  the  church 
together.  She  preceded  me.  I  waited  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  walked  slowly  out.  Hap- 
pening to  look  back  as  I  passed  along  the 
square,  I  saw  a  woman's  figure  which  was 
familiar  to  me,  and,  dominated  by  a  sudden 
impulse,  I  returned  quickly  on  my  steps.  The 
woman  was  Yvette,  and  she  was  obviously  a 
little  startled  when  I  approached  her. 

"Are  you  waiting  for  your  mistress?"  I 
said  sharply.  "  Because " 

She  flashed  me  a  look. 

"  Did  monsieur  by  any  chance  imagine  that 
I  was  waiting  for  himself?" 

There  was  a  calm  insolence  about  the  girl 
which  induced  me  to  retire  from  that  parley. 

In  two  hours  I  was  on  my  way  to  London. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE    TRAIN 

The  boat-train  was  due  to  leave  in  ten  min- 
utes, and  the  platform  at  Victoria  Station 
(how  changed  since  then!)  showed  that  scene 
of  discreet  and  haughty  excitement  which  it 
was  wont  to  exhibit  about  nine  o'clock  every 
evening  in  those  days.  The  weather  was  wild. 
It  had  been  wet  all  day,  and  the  rain  came 
smashing  down,  driven  by  the  great  gusts  of  a 
genuine  westerly  gale.  Consequently  there 
were  fewer  passengers  than  usual,  and  those 
people  who  by  choice  or  compulsion  had  re- 
solved to  front  the  terrors  of  the  Channel  pas- 
sage had  a  preoccupied  look  as  they  hurried 
importantly  to  and  fro  amid  piles  of  luggage 
and  groups  of  loungers  on  the  wind-swept  plat- 
form beneath  the  flickering  gas-lamps.  But 
the  porters,  and  the  friends  engaged  in  the 
ceremony  of  seeing-off,  and  the  loungers,  and 
the  bookstall  clerks  —  these  individuals  were 

not  preoccupied  by  thoughts  of  intimate  incon- 

150 


THE  TRAIN  151 

veniences  before  midnight.  As  for  me,  I  was 
quite  alone  with  my  thoughts.  At  least,  I 
began  by  being  alone. 

As  I  was  registering  a  particularly  heavy 
and  overfed  portmanteau  to  Paris,  a  young 
woman  put  her  head  close  to  mine  at  the  win- 
dow of  the  baggage-office. 

"Mr.  Foster?  I  thought  it  was.  My  cab 
set  down  immediately  after  yours,  and  I  have 
been  trying  to  catch  your  eye  on  the  platform. 
Of  course  it  was  no  go !  " 

The  speech  was  thrown  at  me  in  a  light,  airy 
tone  from  a  tiny,  pert  mouth  which  glistened 
red  behind  a  muslin  veil. 

"  Miss  Deschamps !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Glad  you  remember  my  name.  As  hand- 
some and  supercilious  as  ever,  I  observe.  I 
haven't  seen  you  since  that  night  at  Sullivan's 
reception.  Why  didn't  you  call  on  me  one 
Sunday?  You  know  I  asked  you  to." 

"Did  you  ask  me?"  I  demanded,  secretly 
flattered  in  the  extremity  of  my  youthfulness 
because  she  had  called  me  supercilious. 

"  Well,  rather.  I'm  going  to  Paris  —  and  in 
this  weather ! " 

"  I  am,  too." 

"Then,  let's  go  together,  eh?" 


152  THE    GHOST 

"  Delighted.  But  why  have  you  chosen  such 
a  night?" 

*'  I  haven't  chosen  it.  You  see,  I  open  to- 
morrow at  the  Casino  de  Paris  for  fourteen 
nights,  and  I  suppose  I've  got  to  be  there. 
You  wouldn't  believe  what  they're  paying  me. 
The  Diana  company  is  touring  in  the  provinces 
while  the  theatre  is  getting  itself  decorated.  I 
hate  the  provinces.  Leeds  and  Liverpool  and 
Glasgow  —  fancy  dancing  there !  And  so  my 
half-sister  —  Carlotta,  y'know  —  got  me  this 
engagement,  and  I'm  going  to  stay  with  her. 
Have  you  met  Carlotta?  " 

"  No  —  not  yet."  I  did  not  add  that  I  had 
had  reason  to  think  a  good  deal  about  her. 

"Well,  Carlotta  is  — Carlotta.  A  terrific 
swell,  and  a  bit  of  a  Tartar.  We  quarrel  every 
time  we  meet,  which  isn't  often.  She  tries  to 
play  the  elder  sister  game  on  me,  and  I  won't 
have  it.  Though  she  is  elder  —  very  much 
elder,  you  now.  But  I  think  her  worst  point  is 
that  she's  so  frightfully  mysterious.  You  can 
never  tell  what  she's  up  to.  Now,  a  man  I  met 
at  supper  last  night  told  me  he  thought  he  had 
seen  Carlotta  in  Bloomsbury  yesterday.  How- 
ever, I  didn't  believe  that,  because  she  is  ex- 
pecting me  in  Paris ;  we  happen  to  be  as  thick 


THE    TRAIN  153 

as  thieves  just  now,  and  if  she  had  been  in 
London,  she  would  have  looked  me  up." 

"Just  so,"  I  replied,  wondering  whether  I 
should  endeavor  to  obtain  from  Marie  Des- 
champs  information  which  would  be  useful  to 
Rosa. 

By  the  time  that  the  star  of  the  Diana  had 
said  good-by  to  certain  male  acquaintances, 
and  had  gone  through  a  complicated  dialogue 
with  her  maid  on  the  subject  of  dress-trunks, 
the  clock  pointed  almost  to  nine,  and  a 
porter  rushed  us  —  Marie  and  myself  —  into 
an  empty  compartment  of  a  composite  coach 
near  to  the  engine.  The  compartment  was 
first  class,  but  it  evidently  belonged  to  an 
ancient  order  of  rolling  stock,  and  the  viva- 
cious Marie  criticized  it  with  considerable  free- 
dom. The  wind  howled,  positively  howled, 
in  the  station. 

"  I  wish  I  wasn't  going,"  said  the  lady.  "  I 
shall  be  horribly  ill." 

"  You  probably  will,"  I  said,  to  tease  her, 
idly  opening  the  Globe.  "  It  seems  that  the 
morning  steamer  from  Calais  wasn't  able  to 
make  either  Dover  or  Folkestone,  and  has  re- 
turned to  Calais.  Imagine  the  state  of  mind 
of  the  passengers !  " 


154  THE    GHOST 

"  Ugh !  Oh,  Mr.  Foster,  what  is  that  case 
by  your  side?" 

"  It  is  a  jewel-case." 

"What  a  big  one!" 

She  did  not  conceal  her  desire  to  see  the 
inside  of  it,  but  I  felt  that  I  could  not,  even 
to  satisfy  her  charming  curiosity,  expose  the 
interior  of  Rosa's  jewel-case  in  a  railway  car- 
riage, and  so  I  edged  away  from  the  topic  with 
as  much  adroitness  as  I  was  capable  of. 

The  pretty  girl  pouted,  and  asked  me  for 
the  Globe,  behind  which  she  buried  herself. 
She  kept  murmuring  aloud  extracts  from  the 
Globe's  realistic  description  of  the  weather, 
and  then  she  jumped  up. 

"  I'm  not  going." 

"Not  going?" 

"No.  The  weather's  too  awful.  These 
newspaper  accounts  frighten  me." 

"But  the  Casino  de  Paris?" 

"  A  fig  for  it !  They  must  wait  for  me,  that's 
all.  I'll  try  again  to-morrow.  Will  you  mind 
telling  the  guard  to  get  my  boxes  out,  there's 
a  dear  Mr.  Foster,  and  I'll  endeavor  to  find 
that  maid  of  mine?  " 

The  train  was  already  five  minutes  late  in 
starting;  she  delayed  it  quite  another  five 


THE    TRAIN  155 

minutes,  and  enjoyed  the  process.  And  it  was 
I  who  meekly  received  the  objurgations  of 
porters  and  guard.  My  reward  was  a  smile, 
given  with  a  full  sense  of  its  immense  value. 

"  Good-by,  Mr.  Foster.  Take  care  of  your 
precious  jewel-case." 

I  had  carried  the  thing  in  my  hand  up  and 
down  the  platform.  I  ran  to  my  carriage,  and 
jumped  in  breathless  as  the  train  whistled. 

"Pleasant  journey!"  the  witch  called  out, 
waving  her  small  hand  to  me. 

I  bowed  to  her  from  the  window,  laughing. 
She  was  a  genial  soul,  and  the  incident  had  not 
been  without  amusement. 

After  I  had  shut  the  carriage  door,  and 
glanced  out  of  the  window  for  a  moment  in 
the  approved  way,  I  sank,  faintly  smiling  at 
the  episode,  into  my  corner,  and  then  I  ob- 
served with  a  start  that  the  opposite  corner 
was  occupied.  Another  traveller  had  got  into 
the  compartment  while  I  had  been  coursing 
about  the  platform  on  behalf  of  Marie,  and  that 
traveller  was  the  mysterious  and  sinister  crea- 
ture whom  I  had  met  twice  before  —  once  in 
Oxford  Street,  and  once  again  during  the  night 
watch  in  the  cathedral  at  Bruges.  He  must 
have  made  up  his  mind  to  travel  rather  sud- 


156  THE    GHOST 

denly,  for,  in  spite  of  the  weather,  he  had 
neither  overcoat  nor  umbrella  —  merely  the 
frock  coat  and  silk  hat  of  Piccadilly.  But 
there  was  no  spot  of  rain  on  him,  and  no  sign 
of  disarray. 

As  I  gazed  with  alarmed  eyes  into  the  face 
of  that  strange,  forbidding  personality,  the 
gaiety  of  my  mood  went  out  like  a  match  in  a 
breeze.  The  uncomfortable  idea  oppressed  me 
that  I  was  being  surely  caught  and  enveloped 
in  a  net  of  adverse  circumstances,  that  I  was 
the  unconscious  victim  of  a  deep  and  terrible 
conspiracy  which  proceeded  slowly  forward  to 
an  inevitable  catastrophe.  On  each  of  the  pre- 
vious occasions  when  this  silent  and  malicious 
man  had  crossed  my  path  I  had  had  the  same 
feeling,  but  in  a  less  degree,  and  I  had  been 
able  to  shake  it  off  almost  at  once.  But  now 
it  overcame  and  conquered  me. 

The  train  thundered  across  Grosvenor 
Bridge  through  the  murky  weather  on  its 
way  to  the  coast,  and  a  hundred  times  I  cursed 
it  for  its  lack  of  speed.  I  would  have  given 
much  to  be  at  the  journey's  end,  and  away 
from  this  motionless  and  inscrutable  compan- 
ion. His  eyes  were  constantly  on  my  face,  and 
do  what  I  would  I  could  not  appear  at  ease.  I 


THE    TRAIN  157 

tried  to  read  the  paper,  I  pretended  to  sleep, 
I  hummed  a  tune,  I  even  went  so  far  as  to 
whistle,  but  my  efforts  at  sang-froid  were 
ridiculous.  The  worst  of  it  was  that  he  was 
aware  of  my  despicable  condition;  his  change- 
less cynical  smile  made  that  fact  obvious  to  me. 

At  last  I  felt  that  something  must  happen. 
At  any  rate,  the  silence  of  the  man  must  be 
broken.  And  so  I  gathered  together  my  cour- 
age, and  with  a  preposterous  attempt  at  a 
friendly  smile  remarked: 

"  Beastly  weather  we're  having.  One  would 
scarcely  expect  it  so  early  in  September." 

It  was  an  inane  speech,  so  commonplace,  so 
entirely  foolish.  And  the  man  ignored  it  abso- 
lutely. Only  the  corners  of  his  lips  drooped 
a  little  to  express,  perhaps,  a  profounder  de- 
gree of  hate  and  scorn. 

This  made  me  a  little  angry. 

"  Didn't  I  see  you  last  in  the  cathedral  at 
Bruges  ?  "  I  demanded  curtly,  even  rudely. 

He  laughed.  And  his  laugh  really  alarmed 
me. 

The  train  stopped  at  that  moment  at  a  dark 
and  deserted  spot,  which  proved  to  be  Sitting- 
bourne.  I  hesitated,  and  then,  giving  up  the 
struggle,  sped  out  of  the  compartment,  and 


158  THE    GHOST 

entered  another  one  lower  down.  My  new 
compartment  was  empty.  The  sensation  of 
relief  was  infinitely  soothing.  Placing  the 
jewel-case  carefully  on  my  knees,  I  breathed 
freely  once  more,  and  said  to  myself  that  an- 
other quarter  of  an  hour  of  that  detestable 
presence  would  have  driven  me  mad. 

I  began  to  think  about  Rosetta  Rosa.  As  a 
solace  after  the  exasperating  companionship 
of  that  silent  person  in  the  other  compartment, 
I  invited  from  the  back  of  my  mind  certain 
thoughts  about  Rosetta  Rosa  which  had  been 
modestly  waiting  for  me  there  for  some  little 
time,  and  I  looked  at  them  fairly,  and  turned 
them  over,  and  viewed  them  from  every  side, 
and  derived  from  them  a  rather  thrilling  joy. 
The  fact  is,  I  was  beginning  to  be  in  love  with 
Rosa.  Nay,  I  was  actually  in  love  with  her. 
Ever  since  our  first  meeting  my  meditations 
had  been  more  or  less  busy  with  her  image. 
For  a  long  period,  largely  owing  to  my  pre- 
occupation with  Alresca,  I  had  dreamed  of  her 
but  vaguely.  And  now,  during  our  interviews 
at  her  hotel  and  in  the  church  of  St.  Gilles, 
she  had,  in  the  most  innocent  way  in  the 
world,  forged  fetters  on  me  which  I  had  no 
desire  to  shake  off. 


THE   TRAIN  159 

It  was  a  presumption  on  my  part.  I  ac- 
knowledged frankly  that  it  was  a  presump- 
tion. I  was  a  young  doctor,  with  nothing  to 
distinguish  me  from  the  ruck  of  young  doc- 
tors. And  she  was  —  well,  she  was  one  of 
those  rare  and  radiant  beings  to  whom  even 
monarchs  bow,  and  the  whole  earth  offers  the 
incense  of  its  homage. 

Which  did  not  in  the  least  alter  the  fact  that 
I  was  in  love  with  her.  And,  after  all,  she  was 
just  a  woman ;  more,  she  was  a  young  woman. 
And  she  had  consulted  me!  She  had  allowed 
me  to  be  of  use  to  her!  And,  months  ago  in 
London,  had  she  not  permitted  me  to  talk  to 
her  with  an  extraordinary  freedom?  Lovely, 
incomparable,  exquisite  as  she  was,  she  was 
nevertheless  a  girl,  and  I  was  sure  that  she 
had  a  girl's  heart. 

However,  it  was  a  presumption. 

I  remembered  her  legendary  engagement  to 
Lord  Clarenceux,  an  engagement  which  had 
interested  all  Europe.  I  often  thought  of  that 
matter.  Had  she  loved  him  —  really  loved 
him?  Or  had  his  love  for  her  merely  flattered 
her  into  thinking  that  she  loved  him?  Would 
she  not  be  liable  to  institute  comparisons  be- 


160  THE    GHOST 

tween  myself  and  that  renowned,  wealthy, 
and  gifted  nobleman? 

Well,  I  did  not  care  if  she  did.  Such  is  the 
egoism  of  untried  love  that  I  did  not  care  if 
she  did !  And  I  lapsed  into  a  reverie  —  a  rev- 
erie in  which  everything  went  smoothly, 
everything  was  for  the  best  in  the  best  of  all 
possible  worlds,  and  only  love  and  love's  re- 
quital existed.  .  .  . 

Then,  in  the  fraction  of  a  second,  as  it 
seemed,  there  was  a  grating,  a  horrible  grind 
of  iron,  a  bump,  a  check,  and  my  head  was 
buried  in  the  cushions  of  the  opposite  side  of 
the  carriage,  and  I  felt  stunned  —  not  much, 
but  a  little. 

"  What  —  what  ?  "  I  heard  myself  exclaim. 
"  They  must  have  plumped  the  brakes  on 
pretty  sudden." 

Then,  quite  after  an  interval,  it  occurred  to 
me  that  this  was  a  railway  accident  —  one  of 
those  things  that  one  reads  of  in  the  papers 
with  so  much  calmness.  I  wondered  if  I  was 
hurt,  and  why  I  could  hear  no  sound;  the 
silence  was  absolute  —  terrifying. 

In  a  vague,  aimless  way,  I  sought  for  my 
match-box,  and  struck  a  light.  I  had  just  time 
to  observe  that  both  windows  were  smashed, 


THE  TRAIN  161 

and  the  floor  of  the  compartment  tilted,  when 
the  match  went  out  in  the  wind.  I  had  heard 
no  noise  of  breaking  glass. 

I  stumbled  slowly  to  the  door,  and  tried  to 
open  it,  but  the  thing  would  not  budge. 
Whereupon  I  lost  my  temper. 

"  Open,  you  beast,  you  beast,  you  beast! "  I 
cried  to  the  door,  kicking  it  hard,  and  yet  not 
feeling  the  impact. 

Then  another  thought  —  a  proud  one, 
which  served  to  tranquillize  me :  "  I  am  a  doc- 
tor, and  they  will  want  me  to  attend  to  the 
wounded." 

I  remembered  my  flask,  and  unscrewing  the 
stopper  with  difficulty,  clutched  the  mouth 
with  my  teeth  and  drank.  After  that  I  was 
sane  and  collected.  Now  I  could  hear  people 
tramping  on  the  ground  outside,  and  see  the 
flash  of  lanterns.  In  another  moment  a  porter, 
whose  silver  buttons  gleamed  in  the  darkness, 
was  pulling  me  through  the  window. 

"Hurt?" 

"  No,  not  I.  But  if  any  one  else  is,  I'm  a 
doctor." 

"  Here's  a  doctor,  sir,"  he  yelled  to  a  gray- 
headed  man  near  by.  Then  he  stood  still, 
wondering  what  he  should  do  next.  I  per- 


162  THE    GHOST 

ceived  in  the  near  distance  the  lights  of  a  sta- 
tion. 

"Is  that  Dover?" 

"No,  sir;  Dover  Priory.  Dover's  a  mile 
further  on.  There  was  a  goods  wagon  got 
derailed  on  the  siding  just  beyond  the  home 
signal,  and  it  blocked  the  down  line,  and  the 
driver  of  the  express  ran  right  into  it,  although 
the  signal  was  against  him  —  ran  right  into 
it,  'e  did." 

Other  people  were  crawling  out  of  the  car- 
riages now,  and  suddenly  there  seemed  to  be 
scores  of  spectators,  and  much  shouting  and 
running  about.  The  engine  lay  on  its  side, 
partly  overhanging  a  wrecked  wagon.  Im- 
mense clouds  of  steam  issued  from  it,  hissing 
above  the  roar  of  the  wind.  The  tender  was 
twisted  like  a  patent  hairpin  in  the  middle. 
The  first  coach,  a  luggage-van,  stood  upright, 
and  seemed  scarcely  damaged.  The  second 
coach,  the  small,  old-fashioned  vehicle  which 
happily  I  had  abandoned  at  Sittingbourne, 
was  smashed  out  of  resemblance  to  a  coach. 
The  third  one,  from  which  I  had  just  emerged, 
looked  fairly  healthy,  and  the  remaining  three 
had  not  even  left  the  rails. 

All  ran  to  the  smashed  coach. 


THE   TRAIN  163 

"  There  were  two  passengers  in  that  coach," 
said  the  guard,  who,  having  been  at  the  rear 
of  the  train,  was  unharmed. 

"Are  you  counting  me?"  I  asked.  "Be- 
cause I  changed  carriages  at  Sittingbourne." 

"  Praise  God  for  that,  sir ! "  he  answered. 
"  There's  only  one,  then  —  a  tall,  severe-look- 
ing gent  —  in  the  first-class  cempartment." 

Was  it  joy  or  sorrow  that  I  felt  at  the 
thought  of  that  man  buried  somewhere  in  the 
shapeless  mass  of  wood  and  iron?  It  certainly 
was  not  unmixed  sorrow.  On  the  contrary,  I 
had  a  distinct  feeling  of  elation  at  the  thought 
that  I  was  probably  rid  forever  of  this  haunter 
of  my  peace,  this  menacing  and  mysterious 
existence  which  (if  instinctive  foreboding  was 
to  be  trusted)  had  been  about  to  cross  and 
thwart  and  blast  my  own. 

The  men  hammered  and  heaved  and  chopped 
and  sawed,  and  while  they  were  in  the  midst 
of  the  work  some  one  took  me  by  the  sleeve 
and  asked  me  to  go  and  attend  to  the  engine- 
driver  and  stoker,  who  were  being  carried  into 
a  waiting-room  at  the  station.  It  is  sympto- 
matic of  the  extraordinary  confusion  which 
reigns  in  these  affairs  that  till  that  moment 
the  question  of  the  fate  of  the  men  in  charge 


1 64  THE    GHOST 

of  the  train  had  not  even  entered  my  mind, 
though  I  had  of  course  noticed  that  the  engine 
was  overturned.  In  the  waiting-room  it  was 
discovered  that  two  local  doctors  had  already 
arrived.  I  preferred  to  leave  the  engine-driver 
to  them.  He  was  unconscious  as  he  lay  on  a 
table.  The  stoker,  by  his  side,  kept  murmur- 
ing in  a  sort  of  delirium : 

"  Bill,  'e  was  all  dazed  like  —  'e  was  all 
dazed  like.  I  told  him  the  signal  wasn't  off. 
I  shouted  to  him.  But  'e  was  all  dazed  like." 

I  returned  to  the  train  full  of  a  horrible 
desire  to  see  with  my  own  eyes  a  certain 
corpse.  Bit  by  bit  the  breakdown  gang  had 
removed  the  whole  of  the  centre  part  of  the 
shattered  carriage.  I  thrust  myself  into  the 
group,  and  —  we  all  looked  at  each  other.  No- 
body, alive  or  dead,  was  to  be  found. 

"  He,  too,  must  have  got  out  at  Sitting- 
bourne,"  I  said  at  length. 

"Ay!"  said  the  guard. 

My  heard  swam,  dizzy  with  dark  imagin- 
ings and  unspeakable  suspicions.  "  He  has 
escaped ;  he  is  alive ! "  I  muttered  savagely, 
hopelessly.  It  was  as  if  a  doom  had  closed 
inevitably  over  me.  But  if  my  thoughts  had 
been  legible  and  I  had  been  asked  to  explain 


THE    TRAIN  165 

this  attitude  of  mine  towards  a  person  who 
had  never  spoken  to  me,  whom  I  had  seen  but 
thrice,  and  whose  identity  was  utterly  un- 
known, I  could  not  have  done  so.  I  had  no 
reasons.  It  was  intuition. 

Abruptly  I  straightened  myself,  and  survey- 
ing the  men  and  the  background  of  ruin 
lighted  by  the  fitful  gleams  of  lanterns  and  the 
pale  glitter  of  a  moon  half-hidden  by  flying 
clouds,  I  shouted  out: 

"  I  want  a  cab.  I  have  to  catch  the  Calais 
boat.  Will  somebody  please  direct  me!  " 

No  one  appeared  even  to  hear  me.  The 
mental  phenomena  which  accompany  a  rail- 
way accident,  even  a  minor  one  such  as  this, 
are  of  the  most  singular  description.  I  felt 
that  I  was  growing  angry  again.  I  had  a 
grievance  because  not  a  soul  there  seemed  to 
care  whether  I  caught  the  Calais  boat  or  not. 
That,  under  the  unusual  circumstances,  the 
steamer  would  probably  wait  did  not  occur 
to  me.  Nor  did  I  perceive  that  there  was  no 
real  necessity  for  me  to  catch  the  steamer.  I 
might  just  as  well  have  spent  the  night  at  the 
Lord  Warden,  and  proceeded  on  my  journey 
in  the  morning.  But  no !  I  must  hurry  away 
instantly! 


166  THE    GHOST 

Then  I  thought  of  the  jewel-box. 

"Where's  my  jewel-box?"  I  demanded  ve- 
hemently from  the  guard,  as  though  he  had 
stolen  it. 

He  turned  to  me. 

"What's  that  you're  carrying?"  he  replied. 

All  the  time  I  had  been  carrying  the  jewel- 
box.  At  the  moment  of  the  collision  I  must 
have  instinctively  clutched  it,  and  my  grasp 
had  not  slackened.  I  had  carried  it  to  the 
waiting-room  and  back  without  knowing  that 
I  was  doing  so ! 

This  sobered  me  once  more.  But  I  would 
not  stay  on  the  scene.  I  was  still  obsessed  by 
the  desire  to  catch  the  steamer.  And  abruptly 
I  set  off  walking  down  the  line.  I  left  the 
crowd  and  the  confusion  and  the  ruin,  and 
hastened  away  bearing  the  box. 

I  think  that  I  must  have  had  no  notion  of 
time,  and  very  little  notion  of  space.  For  I 
arrived  at  the  harbour  without  the  least  recol- 
lection of  the  details  of  my  journey  thither.  I 
had  no  memory  of  having  been  accosted  by 
any  official  of  the  railway,  or  even  of  having 
encountered  any  person  at  all.  Fortunately  it 
had  ceased  to  rain,  and  the  wind,  though  still 
strong,  was  falling  rapidly. 


THE    TRAIN  167 

Except  for  a  gatekeeper,  the  bleak,  exposed 
pier  had  the  air  of  being  deserted.  The  lights 
of  the  town  flickered  in  the  distance,  and  above 
them  rose  dimly  the  gaunt  outlines  of  the  for- 
tified hills.  In  front  was  the  intemperate  and 
restless  sea.  I  felt  that  I  was  at  the  extremity 
of  England,  and  on  the  verge  of  unguessed 
things.  Now,  I  had  traversed  about  half  the 
length  of  the  lonely  pier,  which  seems  to  curve 
right  out  into  the  unknown,  when  I  saw  a 
woman  approaching  me  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion. My  faculties  were  fatigued  with  the 
crowded  sensations  of  that  evening,  and  I  took 
no  notice  of  her.  Even  when  she  stopped  to 
peer  into  my  face  I  thought  nothing  of  it,  and 
put  her  gently  aside,  supposing  her  to  be  some 
dubious  character  of  the  night  hours.  But 
she  insisted  on  speaking  to  me. 

"  You  are  Carl  Foster/'  she  said  abruptly. 
The  voice  was  harsh,  trembling,  excited,  yet 
distinguished. 

"Suppose    I    am?"    I    answered    wearily. 
How  tired  I  was! 
"  I  advise  you  not  to  go  to  Paris." 
I  began  to  arouse  my  wits,  and  I  became 
aware  that  the  woman  was  speaking  with  a 
strong  French  accent.     I  searched  her  face, 


i68  THE    GHOST 

but  she  wore  a  thick  veil,  and  in  the  gloom  of 
the  pier  I  could  only  make  out  that  she  had 
striking  features,  and  was  probably  some  forty 
years  of  age.  I  stared  at  her  in  silence. 

"  I  advise  you  not  to  go  to  Paris,"  she  re- 
peated. 

"Who  are  you?" 

"  Never  mind.    Take  my  advice." 

"Why?    Shall  I  be  robbed?" 

"  Robbed ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  if  that  was 
a  new  idea  to  her.  "  Yes,"  she  said  hurriedly. 
"  Those  jewels  might  be  stolen." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  I  have  jewels?  " 

"Ah!    I  — I  saw  the  case." 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,  madam ;  I  shall 
take  particular  care  not  to  be  robbed.  But 
may  I  ask  how  you  have  got  hold  of  my 
name?" 

I  had  vague  ideas  of  an  ingenious  plan  for 
robbing  me,  the  particulars  of  which  this 
woman  was  ready  to  reveal  for  a  considera- 
tion. 

She  ignored  my  question. 

"Listen!"  she  said  quickly.  "You  are 
going  to  meet  a  lady  in  Paris.  Is  it  not  so?  " 

"I  must  really " 


THE    TRAIN  169 

"Take  advice.  Move  no  further  in  that 
affair." 

I  attempted  to  pass  her,  but  she  held  me 
by  the  sleeve.  She  went  on  with  emphasis : 

"  Rosetta  Rosa  will  never  be  allowed  to  sing 
in  '  Carmen '  at  the  Opera  Comique.  Do  you 
understand?  " 

"  Great  Scott !  "  I  said,  "  I  believe  you  must 
be  Carlotta  Deschamps." 

It  was  a  half-humorous  inspiration  on  my 
part,  but  the  remark  produced  an  immediate 
effect  on  the  woman,  for  she  walked  away 
with  a  highly  theatrical  scowl  and  toss  of  the 
head.  I  recalled  what  Marie  Deschamps  had 
said  in  the  train  about  her  stepsister,  and  also 
my  suspicion  that  Rosa's  maid  was  not  en- 
tirely faithful  to  her  mistress  —  spied  on  her, 
in  fact;  and  putting  the  two  things  together, 
it  occurred  to  me  that  this  strange  lady  might 
actually  be  Carlotta. 

Many  women  of  the  stage  acquire  a  habitual 
staginess  and  theatricality,  and  it  was  quite 
conceivable  that  Carlotta  had  relations  with 
Yvette,  and  that,  ridden  by  the  old  jealousy 
which  had  been  aroused  through  the  an- 
nouncement of  Rosa's  return  to  the  Opera 
Comique,  she  was  setting  herself  in  an  indefi- 


170  THE    GHOST 

nite,  clumsy,  stealthy,  and  melodramatic  man- 
ner to  prevent  Rosa's  appearance  in  "  Car- 


men." 


No  doubt  she  had  been  informed  of  Rosa's 
conference  with  me  in  the  church  of  St.  Gilles, 
and,  impelled  by  some  vague,  obscure  motive, 
had  travelled  to  London  to  discover  me,  and 
having  succeeded,  was  determined  by  some 
means  to  prevent  me  from  getting  into  touch 
with  Rosa  in  Paris.  So  I  conjectured  roughly, 
and  subsequent  events  indicated  that  I  was 
not  too  far  wrong. 

I  laughed.  The  notion  of  the  middle-aged 
prima  donna  going  about  in  waste  places  at 
dead  of  night  to  work  mischief  against  a  rival 
was  indubitably  comic.  I  would  make  a  face- 
tious narrative  of  the  meeting  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  Rosa  at  breakfast  to-morrow  in  Paris. 
Then,  feeling  all  at  once  at  the  end  of  my 
physical  powers,  I  continued  my  way,  and 
descended  the  steps  to  the  Calais  boat. 

All  was  excitement  there.  Had  I  heard  of 
the  railway  accident?  Yes,  I  had.  I  had  been 
in  it.  Instantly  I  was  surrounded  by  indi- 
viduals who  raked  me  fore  and  aft  with  ques- 
tions. I  could  not  endure  it;  my  nervous 
energy,  I  realized,  was  exhausted,  and  having 


THE    TRAIN  171 

given  a  brief  outline  of  the  disaster,  I  fled 
down  the  saloon  stairs. 

My  sole  desire  was  to  rest;  the  need  of 
unconsciousness,  of  forgetfulness,  was  imperi- 
ous upon  me;  I  had  had  too  many  experiences 
during  the  last  few  hours.  I  stretched  myself 
on  the  saloon  cushions,  making  a  pillow  of 
the  jewel-box. 

"Shall  we  start  soon?"  I  murmured  to  a 
steward. 

"  Yes,  sir,  in  another  five  minutes.  Weath- 
er's moderating,  sir." 

Other  passengers  were  in  the  saloon,  and 
more  followed.  As  this  would  be  the  first 
steamer  to  leave  Dover  that  day,  there  was  a 
good  number  of  voyagers  on  board,  in  spite  of 
adverse  conditions.  I  heard  people  talking, 
and  the  splash  of  waves  against  the  vessel's 
sides,  and  then  I  went  to  sleep.  Nothing  could 
have  kept  me  awake. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE   STEAMER 

I  awoke  with  a  start,  and  with  wavering 
eyes  looked  at  the  saloon  clock.  I  had  slept 
for  one  hour  only,  but  it  appeared  to  me  that 
I  was  quite  refreshed.  My  mind  was  strangely 
clear,  every  sense  preternaturally  alert.  I 
began  to  wonder  what  had  aroused  me.  Sud- 
denly the  ship  shuddered  through  the  very 
heart  of  her,  and  I  knew  that  it  was  this  shud- 
dering, which  must  have  occurred  before,  that 
had  wakened  me. 

"  Good  God !  We're  sinking !  "  a  man  cried. 
He  was  in  the  next  berth  to  me,  and  he  sat  up, 
staring  wildly. 

"Rubbish!"  I  answered. 

The  electric  lights  went  out,  and  we  were 
left  with  the  miserable  illumination  of  one 
little  swinging  oil-lamp.  Immediately  the 
score  or  so  persons  in  the  saloon  were  afoot 

and  rushing  about,  grasping  their  goods  and 

172 


THE    STEAMER  173 

chattels.  The  awful  shuddering  of  the  ship 
continued.  Scarcely  a  word  was  spoken. 

A  man  flew,  or  rather,  tumbled,  down  the 
saloon  stairs,  shouting:  "Where's  my  wife? 
Where's  my  wife?  "  No  one  took  the  slightest 
notice  of  him,  nor  did  he  seem  to  expect  any 
answer.  Even  in  the  semi-darkness  of  the 
single  lamp  I  distinctly  saw  that  with  both 
hands  he  was  tearing  handfuls  of  hair  from 
his  head.  I  had  heard  the  phrase  "  tearing 
one's  hair  "  some  thousands  of  time  in  my  life, 
but  never  till  that  moment  had  I  witnessed 
the  action  itself.  Somehow  it  made  an  impres- 
sion on  me.  The  man  raced  round  the  saloon 
still  shouting,  and  raced  away  again  up-stairs 
and  out  of  sight.  Every  one  followed  him 
pell-mell,  helter-skelter,  and  almost  in  a  second 
I  found  myself  alone.  I  put  on  my  overcoat, 
and  my  mackintosh  over  that,  and  seizing 
Rosa's  jewel-box,  I  followed  the  crowd. 

As  I  emerged  on  deck  a  Bengal  light  flared 
red  and  dazzling  on  the  bridge,  and  I  saw 
some  sailors  trying  to  lower  a  boat  from  its 
davits.  Then  I  knew  that  the  man  who  had 
cried  "We're  sinking!"  even  if  he  was  not 
speaking  the  exact  truth,  had  at  any  rate  some 
grounds  for  his  assertion. 


174  THE   GHOST 

A  rather  pretty  girl,  pale  with  agitation, 
seized  me  by  the  buttonhole. 

"Where  are  we  going?"  she  questioned 
earnestly. 

"  Don't  know,  madam,"  I  replied ;  and  then 
a  young  man  dragged  her  off  by  the  arm. 

"  Come  this  way,  Lottie,"  I  heard  him  say 
to  her,  "  and  keep  calm." 

I  was  left  staring  at  the  place  where  the 
girl's  head  had  been.  Then  the  head  of  an  old 
man  filled  that  place.  I  saw  his  mouth  and 
all  his  features  working  in  frantic  endeavor 
to  speak  to  me,  but  he  could  not  articulate.  I 
stepped  aside;  I  could  not  bear  to  look  at  him. 

"  Carl,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  you  are  undoubt- 
edly somewhat  alarmed,  but  you  are  not  in 
such  an  absolutely  azure  funk  as  that  old  chap. 
Pull  yourself  together." 

Of  what  followed  immediately  I  have  no 
recollection.  I  knew  vaguely  that  the  ship 
rolled  and  had  a  serious  list  to  starboard,  that 
orders  were  being  hoarsely  shouted  from  the 
bridge,  that  the  moon  was  shining  fitfully,  that 
the  sea  was  black  and  choppy;  I  also  seemed 
to  catch  the  singing  of  a  hymn  somewhere  on 
the  forward  deck.  I  suppose  I  knew  that  I 
existed.  But  that  was  all.  I  had  no  exact 


THE   STEAMER  175 

knowledge  of  what  I  myself  was  doing.  There 
was  a  hiatus  in  my  consciousness  of  myself. 

The  proof  of  this  is  that,  after  a  lapse  of 
time,  I  suddenly  discovered  that  I  had  smoked 
half-way  through  a  cigarette,  and  that  I  was 
at  the  bows  of  the  steamer.  For  a  million 
sovereigns  I  could  not  explain  under  what 
circumstances  I  had  moved  from  one  end  of 
the  ship  to  the  other,  nor  how  I  had  come  to 
light  that  cigarette.  Such  is  the  curious  effect 
of  perturbation. 

But  the  perturbation  had  now  passed  from 
me,  just  as  mysteriously  as  it  had  overtaken 
me.  I  was  cool  and  calm.  I  felt  inquisitive, 
and  I  asked  several  people  what  had  happened. 
But  none  seemed  to  know.  In  fact,  they 
scarcely  heard  me,  and  answered  wildly,  as  if 
in  delirium.  It  seemed  strange  that  anything 
could  have  occurred  on  so  small  a  vessel  with- 
out the  precise  details  being  common  property. 
Yet  so  it  was,  and  those  who  have  been  in  an 
accident  at  sea  will  support  me  when  I  say  that 
the  ignorance  on  the  part  of  the  passengers  of 
the  events  actually  in  progress  is  not  the  least 
astounding  nor  the  least  disconcerting  item  in 
such  an  affair.  It  was  the  psychology  of  the 
railway  accident  repeated. 


176  THE    GHOST 

I  began  to  observe.  The  weather  was  a 
little  murky,  but  beyond  doubt  still  improv- 
ing. The  lights  of  the  French  coast  could 
clearly  be  seen.  The  ship  rolled  in  a  short  sea; 
her  engines  had  stopped ;  she  still  had  the  for- 
midable list  to  starboard;  the  captain  was  on 
the  bridge,  leaning  over,  and  with  his  hands 
round  his  mouth  was  giving  orders  to  an 
officer  below.  The  sailors  were  still  strug- 
gling to  lower  the  boat  from  the  davits.  The 
passengers  stood  about,  aimless,  perhaps  ter- 
ror-struck, but  now  for  the  most  part  quiet 
and  self-contained.  Some  of  them  had  life- 
belts. That  was  the  sum  of  my  observations. 

A  rocket  streamed  upwards  into  the  sky, 
and  another  and  another,  then  one  caught  the 
rigging,  and,  deflected,  whizzed  down  again 
within  a  few  feet  of  my  head,  and  dropped  on 
deck,  spluttering  in  a  silly,  futile  way.  I  threw 
the  end  of  my  cigarette  at  it  to  see  whether 
that  might  help  it  along. 

"  So  this  is  a  shipwreck,"  I  ejaculated. 
"  And  I'm  in  it.  I've  got  myself  safely  off  the 
railway  only  to  fall  into  the  sea.  What  a 
d d  shame !  " 

Queerly  enough,  I  had  ceased  to  puzzle  my- 
self with  trying  to  discover  how  the  disaster 


THE    STEAMER  177 

had  been  brought  about.  I  honestly  made  up 
my  mind  that  we  were  sinking,  and  that  was 
sufficient. 

"  What  cursed  ill-luck!  "  I  murmured  philo- 
sophically. 

I  thought  of  Rosa,  with  whom  I  was  to  have 
breakfasted  on  the  morrow,  whose  jewels  I 
was  carrying,  whose  behest  it  had  been  my 
pleasure  to  obey.  At  that  moment  she  seemed 
to  me  in  my  mind's  eye  more  beautiful,  of  a 
more  exquisite  charm,  than  ever  before.  "  Am 
I  going  to  lose  her?  "  I  murmured.  And  then: 
"  What  a  sensation  there'll  be  in  the  papers  if 
this  ship  does  go  down!"  My  brain  flitted 
from  point  to  point  in  a  quick  agitation.  I 
decided  suddenly  that  the  captain  and  crew 
must  be  a  set  of  nincompoops,  who  had  lost 
their  heads,  and,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  were 
unserenely  doing  nothing.  And  quite  as  sud- 
denly I  reversed  my  decision,  and  reflected 
that  no  doubt  the  captain  was  doing  precisely 
the  correct  thing,  and  that  the  crew  were  loyal 
and  disciplined. 

Then  my  mind  returned  to  Rosa.  What 
would  she  say,  what  would  she  feel,  when  she 
learnt  that  I  had  been  drowned  in  the  Chan- 
nel? Would  she  experience  a  grief  merely 


1 78  THE    GHOST 

platonic,  or  had  she  indeed  a  profounder  feel- 
ing towards  me?  Drowned!  Who  said 
drowned?  There  were  the  boats,  if  they  could 
be  launched,  and,  moreover,  I  could  swim.  I 
considered  what  I  should  do  at  the  moment 
the  ship  foundered  —  for  I  still  felt  she  would 
founder.  I  was  the  blackest  of  pessimists.  I 
said  to  myself  that  I  would  spring  as  far  as 
I  could  into  the  sea,  not  only  to  avoid  the  suck- 
ing in  of  the  vessel,  but  to  get  clear  of  the 
other  passengers. 

Suppose  that  a  passenger  who  could  not 
swim  should  by  any  chance  seize  me  in  the 
water,  how  should  I  act?  This  was  a  conun- 
drum. I  could  not  save  another  and  myself, 
too.  I  said  I  would  leave  that  delicate  point 
till  the  time  came,  but  in  my  heart  I  knew  that 
I  should  beat  off  such  a  person  with  all  the  sav- 
agery of  despair  —  unless  it  happened  to  be  a 
woman.  I  felt  that  I  could  not  repulse  a 
drowning  woman,  even  if  to  help  her  for  a  few 
minutes  meant  death  for  both  of  us. 

How  insignificant  seemed  everything  else  — 
everything  outside  the  ship  and  the  sea  and 
our  perilous  plight !  The  death  of  Alresca,  the 
jealousy  of  Carlotta  Deschamps,  the  plot  (if 
there  was  one)  against  Rosa  —  what  were 


THE    STEAMER  179 

these  matters  to  me?  But  Rosa  was  some- 
thing. She  was  more  than  something;  she 
was  all.  A  lovely,  tantalizing  vision  of  her 
appeared  to  float  before  my  eyes. 

I  peered  over  the  port  rail  to  see  whether 
we  were  in  fact  gradually  sinking.  The  heav- 
ing water  looked  a  long  way  off,  and  the  idea 
of  this  raised  my  spirits  for  an  instant.  But 
only  for  an  instant.  The  apparent  inactivity 
of  those  in  charge  annoyed  while  it  saddened 
me.  They  were  not  even  sending  up  rockets 
now,  nor  burning  Bengal  lights.  I  had  no  pa- 
tience left  to  ask  more  questions.  A  mood  of 
disgust  seized  me.  If  the  captain  himself  had 
stood  by  my  side  waiting  to  reply  to  requests 
for  information,  I  doubt  if  I  should  have 
spoken.  I  felt  like  the  spectator  who  is  com- 
pelled to  witness  a  tragedy  which  both  wounds 
and  bores  him.  I  was  obsessed  by  my  own  ill- 
luck  and  the  stupidity  of  the  rest  of  mankind. 
I  was  particularly  annoyed  by  the  spasmodic 
hymn-singing  that  went  on  in  various  parts 
of  the  deck. 

The  man  who  had  burst  into  the  saloon 
shouting  "Where  is  my  wife?"  reappeared 
from  somewhere,  and  standing  near  to  me 
started  to  undress  hastily.  I  watched  him. 


180  THE    GHOST 

He  had  taken  off  his  coat,  waistcoat,  and 
boots,  when  a  quiet,  amused  voice  said:  "I 
shouldn't  do  that  if  I  were  you.  It's  rather 
chilly,  you  know.  Besides,  think  of  the  la- 
dies." 

Without  a  word  he  began  with  equal  celer- 
ity to  reassume  his  clothes.  I  turned  to  the 
speaker.  It  was  the  youth  who  had  dragged 
the  girl  away  from  me  when  I  first  came  up 
on  deck.  She  was  on  his  arm,  and  had  a  rug 
over  her  head.  Both  were  perfectly  self-pos- 
sessed. The  serenity  of  the  young  man's  face 
particularly  struck  me.  I  was  not  to  be  out- 
done. 

"  Have  a  cigarette  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Thanks." 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  what  all  this  busi- 
ness is?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  It's  a  collision,"  he  said.  "  We  were 
struck  on  the  port  paddle-box.  That  saved  us 
for  the  moment." 

"How  did  it  occur?" 

"  Don't  know." 

"  And  where's  the  ship  that  struck  us  ?  " 

"  Oh,  somewhere  over  there  —  two  or  three 
miles  away."  He  pointed  vaguely  to  the 
northeast.  "  You  see,  half  the  paddle-wheel 


THE    STEAMER  181 

was  knocked  off,  and  when  that  sank,  of  course 
the  port  side  rose  out  of  the  water.  I  believe 
those  paddle-wheels  weigh  a  deuce  of  a  lot." 

"  Are  we  going  to  sink?  " 

"  Don't  know.  Can  tell  you  more  in  half  an 
hour.  I've  got  two  life-belts  hidden  under  a 
seat.  They're  rather  a  nuisance  to  carry  about. 
You're  shivering,  Lottie.  We  must  take  some 
more  exercise.  See  you  later,  sir." 

And  the  two  went  off  again.  The  girl  had 
not  looked  at  me,  nor  I  at  her.  She  did  not 
seem  to  be  interested  in  our  conversation.  As 
for  her  companion,  he  restored  my  pride  in 
my  race. 

I  began  to  whistle.  Suddenly  the  whistle 
died  on  my  lips.  Standing  exactly  opposite 
to  me,  on  the  starboard  side,  was  the  mysteri- 
ous being  whom  I  had  last  seen  in  the  railway 
carriage  at  Sittingbourne.  He  was,  as  usual, 
imperturbable,  sardonic,  terrifying.  His  face, 
which  chanced  to  be  lighted  by  the  rays  of  a 
deck  lantern,  had  the  pallor  and  the  immobil- 
ity of  marble,  and  the  dark  eyes  held  me  under 
their  hypnotic  gaze. 

Again  I  had  the  sensation  of  being  victim- 
ized by  a  conspiracy  of  which  this  implacable 
man  was  the  head.  I  endured  once  more  the 


182  THE    GHOST 

mental  tortures  which  I  had  suffered  in  the 
railway  carriage,  and  now,  as  then,  I  felt  help- 
less and  bewildered.  It  seemed  to  me  that  his 
existence  overshadowed  mine,  and  that  in 
some  way  he  was  connected  with  the  death 
of  Alresca.  Possibly  there  was  a  plot,  in 
which  the  part  played  by  the  jealousy  of  Car- 
lotta  Deschamps  was  only  a  minor  one.  Pos- 
sibly I  had  unwittingly  stepped  into  a  net  of 
subtle  intrigue,  of  the  extent  of  whose  boun- 
daries and  ramifications  I  had  not  the  slight- 
est idea.  Like  one  set  in  the  blackness  of  an 
unfamiliar  chamber,  I  feared  to  step  forward 
or  backward  lest  I  might  encounter  some  un- 
known horror. 

It  may  be  argued  that  I  must  have  been  in 
a  highly  nervous  condition  in  order  to  be 
affected  in  such  a  manner  by  the  mere  sight 
of  a  man  —  a  man  who  had  never  addressed  to 
me  a  single  word  of  conversation.  Perhaps  so. 
Yet  up  to  that  period  of  my  life  my  tempera- 
ment and  habit  of  mind  had  been  calm,  unim- 
pressionable, and  if  I  may  say  so,  not  specially 
absurd. 

What  need  to  inquire  how  the  man  had  got 
on  board  that  ship  —  how  he  had  escaped 
death  in  the  railway  accident  —  how  he  had 


THE   STEAMER  183 

eluded  my  sight  at  Dover  Priory?  There  he 
stood.  Evidently  he  had  purposed  to  pursue 
me  to  Paris,  and  little  things  like  railway  col- 
lisions were  insufficient  to  deter  him.  I  sur- 
mised that  he  must  have  quitted  the  compart- 
ment at  Sittingbourne  immediately  after  me, 
meaning  to  follow  me,  but  that  the  starting 
of  the  train  had  prevented  him  from  entering 
the  same  compartment  as  I  entered.  Accord- 
ing to  this  theory,  he  must  have  jumped  into 
another  compartment  lower  down  the  train  as 
the  train  was  moving,  and  left  it  when  the 
collision  occurred,  keeping  his  eye  on  me  all 
the  time,  but  not  coming  forward.  He  must 
even  have  walked  after  me  down  the  line  from 
Dover  Priory  to  the  pier. 

However,  a  shipwreck  was  a  more  serious 
affair  than  a  railway  accident.  And  if  the  ship 
were  indeed  doomed,  it  would  puzzle  even  him 
to  emerge  with  his  life.  He  might  seize  me  in 
the  water,  and  from  simple  hate  drag  me  to 
destruction,  —  yes,  that  was  just  what  he 
would  do,  —  but  he  would  have  a  difficulty  in 
saving  himself.  Such  were  my  wild  and 
fevered  notions! 

On  the  starboard  bow  I  saw  the  dim  bulk 
and  the  masthead  lights  of  a  steamer  ap- 


184  THE    GHOST 

preaching  us.  The  other  passengers  had  ob- 
served it,  too,  and  there  was  a  buzz  of  antici- 
pation on  the  slanting  deck.  Only  the  inimical 
man  opposite  to  me  seemed  to  ignore  the  stir. 
He  did  not  even  turn  round  to  look  at  the 
object  which  had  aroused  the  general  excite- 
ment. His  eyes  never  left  me. 

The  vessel  came  nearer,  till  we  could  discern 
clearly  the  outline  of  her,  and  a  black  figure 
on  her  bridge.  She  was  not  more  than  a  hun- 
dred yards  away  when  the  beat  of  her  engines 
stopped.  She  hailed  us.  We  waited  for  the 
answering  call  from  our  own  captain,  but 
there  was  no  reply.  Twice  again  she  hailed  us, 
and  was  answered  only  by  silence. 

"  Why  don't  our  people  reply?  "  an  old  lady 
asked,  who  came  up  to  me  at  that  moment, 
breathing  heavily. 

"  Because   they   are   d d   fools,"    I   said 

roughly.  She  was  a  most  respectable  and 
prim  old  lady;  yet  I  could  not  resist  shocking 
her  ears  by  an  impropriety. 

The  other  ship  moved  away  into  the  night. 

Was  I  in  a  dream?  Was  this  a  pantomime 
shipwreck?  Then  it  occurred  to  me  that  the 
captain  was  so  sure  of  being  ultimately  able 
to  help  himself  that  he  preferred  from  motives 


THE    STEAMER  185 

of  economy  to  decline  assistance  which  would 
involve  a  heavy  salvage  claim. 

My  self-possessed  young  man  came  along 
again  in  the  course  of  his  peregrinations,  the 
girl  whom  he  called  Lottie  still  on  his  arm. 
He  stopped  for  a  chat. 

"Most  curious  thing!"  he  began. 

"What  now?" 

"  Well,  I  found  out  about  the  collision." 

"How  did  it  occur?" 

"  In  this  way.  The  captain  was  on  duty  on 
the  bridge,  with  the  steersman  at  the  wheel. 
It  was  thickish  weather  then,  much  thicker 
than  it  is  now  —  in  fact,  there'll  soon  be  no 
breeze  left,  and  look  at  the  stars!  Suddenly 
the  lookout  man  shouted  that  there  was  a  sail 
on  the  weather  bow,  and  it  must  have  been 
pretty  close,  too.  The  captain  ordered  the 
man  at  the  wheel  to  put  the  boat  to  port  —  I 
don't  know  the  exact  phraseology  of  the  thing 
—  so  that  we  could  pass  the  other  ship  on  our 
starboard  side.  Instead  of  doing  that,  the 
triple  idiot  shoved  us  to  starboard  as  hard  as 
he  could,  and  before  the  captain  could  do  any- 
thing, we  were  struck  on  the  port  paddle. 
The  steersman  had  sent  us  right  into  the  other 
ship.  If  he  had  wanted  specially  to  land  us 


186  THE    GHOST 

into  a  good  smash-up,  he  could  scarcely  have 
done  it  better.  A  good  thing  we  got  caught 
on  the  paddle;  otherwise  we  should  have  been 
cut  clean  in  two.  As  it  was,  the  other  boat 
recoiled  and  fell  away." 

"Was  she  damaged?" 

"  Probably  not." 

"  How  does  the  man  at  the  wheel  explain 
his  action?  " 

"  Well,  that's  the  curious  part.  I  was  just 
coming  to  that.  Naturally  he's  in  a  great  state 
of  terror  just  now,  but  he  can  just  talk.  He 
swears  that  when  the  captain  gave  his  order  a 
third  person  ran  up  the  steps  leading  to  the 
bridge,  and  so  frightened  him  that  he  was  sort 
of  dazed,  and  did  exactly  the  wrong  thing." 

"A  queer  tale!" 

"  I  should  think  so.  But  he  sticks  to  it.  He 
even  says  that  this  highly  mysterious  third 
person  made  him  do  the  wrong  thing.  But 
that's  absolute  tommy-rot." 

"  The  man  must  be  mad." 

"  I  should  have  said  he  had  been  drunk,  but 
there  doesn't  seem  to  be  any  trace  of  that. 
Anyhow,  he  sees  visions,  and  I  maintain  that 
the  Chatham  and  Dover  people  oughtn't  to 


THE  STEAMER  187 

have  their  boats  steered  by  men  who  see 
visions,  eh?  " 

"  I  agree  with  you.  I  suppose  we  aren't  now 
in  any  real  danger?" 

"  I  should  hardly  think  so.  We  might  have 
been.  It  was  pure  luck  that  we  happened  to 
get  struck  on  the  paddle-box,  and  also  it  was 
pure  luck  that  the  sea  has  gone  down  so  rap- 
idly. With  a  list  like  this,  a  really  lively  cross- 
sea  would  soon  have  settled  us." 

We  were  silent  for  a  few  moments.  The  girl 
looked  idly  round  the  ship,  and  her  eyes  en- 
countered the  figure  of  the  mysterious  man. 
She  seemed  to  shiver. 

"  Oh ! "  she  exclaimed  under  her  breath, 
"  what  a  terrible  face  that  man  has ! " 

"Where?"  said  her  friend. 

"  Over  there.  And  how  is  it  he's  wearing 
a  silk  hat  —  here?" 

His  glance  followed  hers,  but  my  follower 
had  turned  abruptly  round,  and  in  a  moment 
was  moving  quickly  to  the  after-part  of  the 
ship.  He  passed  behind  the  smoke-stack,  and 
was  lost  to  our  view. 

"The  back  of  him  looks  pretty  stiff,"  the 
young  man  said.  "  I  wonder  if  he's  the  chap 
that  alarmed  the  man  at  the  wheel." 


1 88  THE    GHOST 

I  laughed,  and  at  the  same  time  I  acciden- 
tally dropped  Rosa's  jewel-case,  which  had 
never  left  my  hand.  I  picked  it  up  hurriedly. 

"  You  seem  attached  to  that  case,"  the 
young  man  said,  smiling.  "  If  we  had  foun- 
dered, should  you  have  let  it  go,  or  tried  to 
swim  ashore  with  it?" 

'  The  question  is  doubtful,"  I  replied,  re- 
turning his  smile.  In  shipwrecks  one  soon 
becomes  intimate  with  strangers. 

"  If  I  mistake  not,  it  is  a  jewel-case." 

"  It  is  a  jewel-case." 

He  nodded  with  a  moralizing  air,  as  if  re- 
flecting upon  the  sordid  love  of  property  which 
will  make  a  man  carry  a  jewel-case  about  with 
him  when  the  next  moment  he  might  find  him- 
self in  the  sea.  At  least,  that  was  my  inter- 
pretation of  the  nodding.  Then  the  brother 
and  sister  —  for  such  I  afterwards  discovered 
they  were  —  left  me  to  take  care  of  my  jewel- 
case  alone. 

Why  had  I  dropped  the  jewel-case?  Was  it 
because  I  was  startled  by  the  jocular  remark 
which  identified  the  mysterious  man  with  the 
person  who  had  disturbed  the  steersman? 
That  remark  was  made  in  mere  jest.  Yet  I 
could  not  help  thinking  that  it  contained  the 


THE    STEAMER  189 

truth.  Nay,  I  knew  that  it  was  true;  I  knew 
by  instinct.  And  being  true,  what  facts  were 
logically  to  be  deduced  from  it?  What  aim 
had  this  mysterious  man  in  compelling,  by  his 
strange  influences,  the  innocent  sailor  to  guide 
the  ship  towards  destruction  —  the  ship  in 
which  I  happened  to  be  a  passenger?  .  .  . 
And  then  there  was  the  railway  accident.  The 
stoker  had  said  that  the  engine-driver  had 
been  dazed  —  like  the  steersman.  But  no. 
There  are  avenues  of  conjecture  from  which 
the  mind  shrinks.  I  could  not  follow  up  that 
train  of  thought. 

Happily,  I  did  not  see  my  enemy  again  —  at 
least,  during  that  journey.  And  my  mind  was 
diverted,  for  the  dawn  came  —  the  beautiful 
September  dawn.  Never  have  I  greeted  the 
sun  with  deeper  joy,  and  I  fancy  that  my  senti- 
ments were  shared  by  every  one  on  board  the 
vessel.  As  the  light  spread  over  the  leaden 
waters,  and  the  coast  of  France  was  silhou- 
etted against  the  sky,  the  passengers  seemed 
to  understand  that  danger  was  over,  and  that 
we  had  been  through  peril,  and  escaped.  Some 
threw  themselves  upon  their  knees,  and  prayed 
with  an  ecstasy  of  thankfulness.  Others  re- 
commenced their  hymning.  Others  laughed 


190  THE    GHOST 

rather  hysterically,  and  began  to  talk  at  a  pro- 
digious rate.  A  few,  like  myself,  stood  silent 
and  apparently  unmoved. 

Then  the  engines  began  to  beat.  There  was 
a  frightful  clatter  of  scrap-iron  and  wood  in 
the  port  paddle-box,  and  they  stopped  immedi- 
ately, whereupon  we  noticed  that  the  list  of 
the  vessel  was  somewhat  more  marked  than 
before.  The  remainder  of  the  port  paddle  had, 
in  fact,  fallen  away  into  the  water.  The  hymn- 
singers  ceased  their  melodies,  absorbed  in  an- 
ticipating what  would  happen  next.  At  last, 
after  many  orders  and  goings  to  and  fro,  the 
engines  started  again,  this  time,  of  course,  the 
starboard  paddle,  deeply  immersed,  moved  by 
itself.  We  progressed  with  infinite  slowness, 
and  in  a  most  peculiar  manner,  but  we  did 
progress,  and  that  was  the  main  thing.  The 
passengers  cheered  heartily. 

We  appeared  to  go  in  curves,  but  each  curve 
brought  us  nearer  to  Calais.  As  we  ap- 
proached that  haven  of  refuge,  it  seemed  as  if 
every  steamer  and  smack  of  Calais  was  com- 
ing out  to  meet  us.  The  steamers  whistled, 
th£  owners  of  smacks  bawled  and  shouted. 
They  desired  to  assist;  for  were  we  not  dis- 
abled, and  would  not  the  English  railway  com- 


THE    STEAMER  191 

pany  pay  well  for  help  so  gallantly  rendered? 
Our  captain,  however,  made  no  sign,  and,  like 
a  wounded,  sullen  animal,  from  whom  its  com- 
panions timidly  keep  a  respectful  distance,  we 
at  length  entered  Calais  harbor,  and  by  dint 
of  much  seamanship  and  polyglottic  swearing 
brought  up  safely  at  the  quay. 

Then  it  was  that  one  fully  perceived,  with  a 
feeling  of  shame,  how  night  had  magnified  the 
seriousness  of  the  adventure;  how  it  had  been 
nothing,  after  all;  how  it  would  not  fill  more 
than  half  a  column  in  the  newspapers;  how 
the  officers  of  the  ship  must  have  despised  the 
excited  foolishness  of  passengers  who  would 
not  listen  to  reasonable,  commonplace  ex- 
planations. 

The  boat  was  evacuated  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye.  I  have  never  seen  a  Channel  steamer 
so  quickly  empty  itself.  It  was  as  though  the 
people  were  stricken  by  a  sudden  impulse  to 
dash  away  from  the  poor  craft  at  any  cost.  At 
the  Customs,  amid  all  the  turmoil  and  bustle, 
I  saw  neither  my  young  friend  and  his  sister, 
nor  my  enemy,  who  so  far  had  clung  to  me  on 
my  journey. 

I  learned  that  a  train  would  start  in  about 
a  quarter  of  an  hour.  I  had  some  coffee  and 


192  THE    GHOST 

a  roll  at  the  buffet.  While  I  was  consuming 
that  trifling  refection  the  young  man  and  his 
sister  joined  me.  The  girl  was  taciturn  as 
before,  but  her  brother  talked  cheerfully  as 
he  sipped  chocolate;  he  told  me  that  his  name 
was  Watts,  and  he  introduced  his  sister.  He 
had  a  pleasant  but  rather  weak  face,  and  as  for 
his  manner  and  bearing,  I  could  not  decide  in 
my  own  mind  whether  he  was  a  gentleman  or 
a  buyer  from  some  London  drapery  warehouse 
on  his  way  to  the  city  of  modes.  He  gave  no 
information  as  to  his  profession  or  business, 
and  as  I  had  not  even  returned  his  confidence 
by  revealing  my  name,  this  was  not  to  be  won- 
dered at. 

"  Are  you  going  on  to  Paris?  "  he  said  pres- 
ently. 

"  Yes ;  and  the  sooner  I  get  there  the  better 
I  shall  be  pleased." 

"  Exactly,"  he  smiled.  "  I  am  going,  too. 
I  have  crossed  the  Channel  many  times,  but  I 
have  never  before  had  such  an  experience  as 
last  night's." 

Then  we  began  to  compare  notes  of  previ- 
ous voyages,  until  a  railway  official  entered  the 
buffet  with  a  raucous,  "  Voyageurs  pour  Paris, 


en  voiture." 


THE    STEAMER  193 

There  was  only  one  first-class  carriage,  and 
into  this  I  immediately  jumped,  and  secured  a 
corner.  Mr.  Watts  followed  me,  and  took  the 
other  corner  of  the  same  seat.  Miss  Watts 
remained  on  the  platform.  It  was  a  corridor 
carriage,  and  the  corridor  happened  to  be  on 
the  far  side  from  the  platform.  Mr.  Watts 
went  out  to  explore  the  corridor.  I  arranged 
myself  in  my  seat,  placed  the  jewel-case  by  my 
side,  and  my  mackintosh  over  my  knees.  Miss 
Watts  stood  idly  in  front  of  the  carriage  door, 
tapping  the  platform  with  her  umbrella. 

"  You  do  not  accompany  your  brother, 
then?"  I  ventured. 

"  No.  I'm  staying  in  Calais,  where  I  have 
an  —  an  engagement."  She  smiled  plaintively 
at  me. 

Mr.  Watts  came  back  into  the  compartment, 
and,  standing  on  the  step,  said  good-by  to  his 
sister,  and  embraced  her.  She  kissed  him 
affectionately.  Then,  having  closed  the  car- 
riage door,  he  stolidly  resumed  his  seat,  which 
was  on  the  other  side  away  from  the  door. 
We  had  the  compartment  to  ourselves. 

"  A  nice  girl,"  I  reflected. 

The  train  whistled,  and  a  porter  ran  along 
to  put  the  catches  on  all  the  doors. 


i94  THE    GHOST 

"  Good-by;  we're  off,"  I  said  to  Miss  Watts. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  said,  and  her  face  seemed 
to  flush  in  the  cold  morning  light,  —  "  mon- 
sieur." Was  she,  then,  French,  to  address  me 
like  that? 

She  made  a  gesture  as  if  she  would  say 
something  to  me  of  importance,  and  I  put  my 
head  out  of  the  window. 

"  May  I  ask  you  to  keep  an  eye  on  my 
brother?"  she  whispered. 

"  In  what  way?  "  I  asked,  somewhat  aston- 
ished. 

The  train  began  to  move,  and  she  walked  to 
keep  level  with  me. 

"  Do  not  let  him  drink  at  any  of  the  railway 
buffets  on  the  journey;  he  will  be  met  at  the 
Gare  du  Nord.  He  is  addicted " 

"  But  how  can  I  stop  him  if  he  wants 
to " 

She  had  an  appealing  look,  and  she  was 
running  now  to  keep  pace  with  the  train. 

"  Ah,  do  what  you  can,  sir.  I  ask  it  as  a 
favor.  Pardon  the  request  from  a  perfect 
stranger." 

I  nodded  acquiescence,  and,  waving  a  fare- 
well to  the  poor  girl,  sank  back  into  my  seat. 
"  This  is  a  nice  commission !  "  I  thought. 


THE    STEAMER  195 

Mr.  Watts  was  no  longer  in  his  corner. 
Also  my  jewel-case  was  gone. 

"A  deliberate  plant!"  I  exclaimed;  and  I 
could  not  help  admiring  the  cleverness  with 
which  it  had  been  carried  out. 

I  rushed  into  the  corridor,  and  looked 
through  every  compartment;  but  Mr.  Watts, 
whom  I  was  to  keep  from  drunkenness,  had 
utterly  departed.  Then  I  made  for  the  handle 
of  the  communication  cord.  It  had  been  neatly 
cut  off.  The  train  was  now  travelling  at  a 
good  speed,  and  the  first  stop  would  be  Ami- 
ens. I  was  too  ashamed  of  my  simplicity  to 
give  the  news  of  my  loss  to  the  other  passen- 
gers in  the  carriage. 

"  Very  smart  indeed !  "  I  murmured,  sitting 
down,  and  I  smiled  —  for,  after  all,  I  could 
afford  to  smile. 


CHAPTER   XI 

A   CHAT   WITH    ROSA 

"  And  when  I  sat  down  it  was  gone,  and 
the  precious  Mr.  Watts  had  also  vanished." 

"  Oh ! "  exclaimed  Rosa.  That  was  all  she 
said.  It  is  impossible  to  deny  that  she  was 
startled,  that  she  was  aghast.  I,  however, 
maintained  a  splendid  equanimity. 

We  were  sitting  in  the  salon  of  her  flat  at 
the  Place  de  la  Concorde  end  of  the  Rue  de 
Rivoli.  We  had  finished  lunch,  and  she  had 
offered  me  a  cigarette.  I  had  had  a  bath, 
and  changed  my  attire,  and  eaten  a  meal 
cooked  by  a  Frenchman,  and  I  felt  renewed. 
I  had  sunned  myself  in  the  society  of  Rosetta 
Rosa  for  an  hour,  and  I  felt  soothed.  I  for- 
got all  the  discomforts  and  misgivings  of  the 
voyage.  It  was  nothing  to  me,  as  I  looked 
at  this  beautiful  girl,  that  within  the  last 
twenty-four  hours  I  had  twice  been  in  danger 
of  losing  my  life.  What  to  me  was  the  mys- 

196 


A    CHAT    WITH    ROSA  197 

terious  man  with  the  haunting  face  of  im- 
placable hate?  What  to  me  were  the  words 
of  the  woman  who  had  stopped  me  on  the 
pier  at  Dover?  Nothing!  A  thousand  times 
less  than  nothing!  I  loved,  and  I  was  in  the 
sympathetic  presence  of  her  whom  I  loved. 

I  had  waited  till  lunch  was  over  to  tell  Rosa 
of  the  sad  climax  of  my  adventures. 

"  Yes,"  I  repeated,  "  I  was  never  more  com- 
pletely done  in  my  life.  The  woman  con- 
spirator took  me  in  absolutely." 

"What  did  you  do  then?" 

"Well,  I  wired  to  Calais  immediately  we 
got  to  Amiens,  and  told  the  police,  and  did 
all  the  things  one  usually  does  do  when  one 
has  been  robbed.  Also,  since  arriving  in 
Paris,  I  have  been  to  the  police  here." 

"  Do  they  hold  out  any  hope  of  recovery?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  they  are  not  sanguine.  You 
see,  the  pair  had  a  good  start,  and  I  expect 
they  belong  to  one  of  the  leading  gangs  of 
jewel  thieves  in  Europe.  The  entire  business 
must  have  been  carefully  planned.  Probably 
I  was  shadowed  from  the  moment  I  left  your 
bankers'." 

"It's   unfortunate." 

"Yes,  indeed.     I  felt  sure  that  you  would 


198  THE    GHOST 

attach  some  importance  to  the  jewel-case.  So 
I  have  instructed  the  police  to  do  their  ut- 
most." 

She  seemed  taken  aback  by  the  lightness  of 
my  tone. 

"  My  friend,  those  jewels  were  few,  but 
they  were  valuable.  They  were  worth  —  I 
don't  know  what  they  were  worth.  There 
was  a  necklace  that  must  have  cost  fifteen 
thousand  pounds." 

"  Yes  —  the  jewels." 

"  Well !  Is  it  not  the  jewels  that  are  miss- 
ing?" 

"  Dear  lady,"  I  said,  "  I  aspire  to  be  thought 
a  man  of  the  world  —  it  is  a  failing  of  youth; 
but,  then,  I  am  young.  As  a  man  of  the 
world,  I  cogitated  a  pretty  good  long  time 
before  I  set  out  for  Paris  with  your  jewels." 

"  You  felt  there  was  a  danger  of  robbery?  " 

"  Exactly." 

"  And  you  were  not  mistaken."  There  was 
irony  in  her  voice. 

"  True !  But  let  me  proceed.  A  man  of  the 
world  would  see  at  once  that  a  jewel-case 
was  an  object  to  attract  the  eyes  of  those 
who  live  by  their  wits." 

"  I  should  imagine  so." 


A   CHAT   WITH    ROSA  199 

"Therefore,  as  a  man  of  the  world,  I  en- 
deavored to  devise  a  scheme  of  safeguarding 
my  little  cargo." 

"And  you " 

"  I  devised  one." 

"What  was  it?" 

"  I  took  all  the  jewels  out  of  the  case,  and 
put  them  into  my  various  pockets;  and  I  car- 
ried the  case  to  divert  attention  from  those 
pockets." 

She  looked  at  me,  her  face  at  first  all  per- 
plexity; gradually  the  light  broke  upon  her. 

"Simple,  wasn't  it?"  I  murmured. 

"Then  the  jewels  are  not  stolen?" 

"  Certainly  not.  The  jewels  are  in  my 
pockets.  If  you  recollect,  I  said  it  was  the 
jewel-case  that  was  stolen." 

I  began  to  smile. 

"  Mr.  Foster,"  she  said,  smiling  too,  "  I  am 
extremely  angry." 

"  Forgive  the  joke,"  I  entreated  "  Perhaps 
it  is  a  bad  one  —  but  I  hope  not  a  very  bad 
one,  because  very  bad  jokes  are  inexcusable. 
And  here  are  your  jewels." 

I  put  on  the  expression  of  a  peccant  but 
hopeful  schoolboy,  as  I  emptied  one  pocket 
after  another  of  the  scintillating  treasures. 


200  THE    GHOST 

The  jewels  lay,  a  gorgeous  heap,  on  her  lap. 
The  necklace  which  she  had  particularly 
mentioned  was  of  pearls.  There  were  also 
rubies  and  emeralds,  upon  which  she  seemed 
to  set  special  store,  and  a  brooch  in  the  form 
of  a  butterfly,  which  she  said  was  made  ex- 
pressly for  her  by  Lalique.  But  not  a  dia- 
mond in  the  collection!  It  appeared  that  she 
regarded  diamonds  as  some  men  regard 
champagne  —  as  a  commodity  not  appealing 
to  the  very  finest  taste. 

"  I  didn't  think  you  were  so  mischievous," 
she  laughed,  frowning. 

To  transfer  the  jewels  to  her  possession  I 
had  drawn  my  chair  up  to  hers,  and  we  were 
close  together,  face  to  face. 

"  Ah ! "  I  replied,  content,  unimaginably 
happy.  "  You  don't  know  me  yet.  I'm  a  ter- 
rible fellow." 

"Think  of  my  state  of  mind  during  the 
last  fifteen  minutes." 

"  Yes,  but  think  of  the  joy  which  you  now 
experience.  It  is  I  who  have  given  you  that 
joy  —  the  joy  of  losing  and  gaining  all  that 
in  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

She  picked  up  the  necklace,  and  as  she 
gazed  at  the  stones  her  glance  had  a  rapt 


A    CHAT    WITH    ROSA  201 

expression,  as  though  she  were  gazing 
through  their  depths  into  the  past. 

"  Mr.  Foster,"  she  said  at  length,  without 
ceasing  to  look  at  the  pearls,  "  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  glad  I  am  that  you  are  in  Paris. 
Shall  you  stay  till  I  have  appeared  at  the 
Opera  Comique?" 

"  I  was  hoping  to,  and  if  you  say  you 
would  like  me  to " 

"Ah!"  she  exclaimed,  "I  do."  And  she 
looked  up. 

Her  lovely  eyes  had  a  suspicion  of  mois- 
ture. The  blood  rushed  through  my  head, 
and  I  could  feel  its  turbulent  throb-throb 
across  the  temples  and  at  my  heart. 

I  was  in  heaven,  and  residence  in  heaven 
makes  one  bold. 

"You  really  would  like  me  to  stay?"  I 
almost  whispered,  in  a  tone  that  was  equiv- 
alent to  a  declaration. 

Her  eyes  met  mine  in  silence  for  a  few 
instants,  and  then  she  said,  with  a  touch  of 
melancholy: 

"  In  all  my  life  I've  only  had  two  friends 
—  I  mean  since  my  mother's  death;  and  you 
are  the  third." 

"Is  that  all?" 


202  THE    GHOST 

"  You  don't  know  what  a  life  like  mine  is," 
she  went  on,  with  feeling.  "  I'm  only  a 
prima  donna,  you  know.  People  think  that 
because  I  can  make  as  much  money  in  three 
hours  as  a  milliner's  girl  can  make  in  three 
years,  and  because  I'm  always  in  the  midst 
of  luxuries,  and  because  I  have  whims  and 
caprices,  and  because  my  face  has  certain 
curves  in  it,  and  because  men  get  jealous  with 
each  other  about  kissing  my  hand,  that  there- 
fore I've  got  all  I  want." 

"Certain  curves!"  I  burst  out.  "Why, 
you're  the  most  beautiful  creature  I  ever 
saw!" 

"There!"  she  cried.  "That's  just  how 
they  all  talk.  I  do  hate  it." 

"Do  you?"  I  said.  "Then  I'll  never  call 
you  beautiful  again.  But  I  should  have 
thought  you  were  fairly  happy." 

"  I'm  happy  when  I'm  singing  well,"  she 
answered  —  "  only  then.  I  like  singing.  I 
like  to  see  an  audience  moved.  I  must  sing. 
Singing  is  my  life.  But  do  you  know  what 
that  means?  That  means  that  I  belong  to 
the  public,  and  so  I  can't  hide  myself.  That 
means  that  I  am  always  —  always  —  sur- 
rounded by  '  admirers/  " 


A   CHAT   WITH    ROSA  203 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  them.  I  don't  like  any 
of  them.  And  I  don't  like  them  in  the  mass. 
Why  can't  I  just  sing,  and  then  belong  sim- 
ply to  myself?  They  are  for  ever  there,  my 
'  admirers.'  Men  of  wealth,  men  of  talent, 
men  of  adventure,  men  of  wits  —  all  devoted, 
all  respectful,  all  ready  to  marry  me.  Some 
honorable,  according  to  the  accepted  stand- 
ard, others  probably  dishonorable.  And  there 
is  not  one  but  whose  real  desire  is  to  own 
me.  I  know  them.  Love!  In  my  world, 
peculiar  in  that  world  in  which  I  live,  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  love  —  only  a  showy  imi- 
tation. Yes,  they  think  they  love  me. 
t  When  we  are  married  you  will  not  sing  any 
more;  you  will  be  mine  then,'  says  one.  That 
is  what  he  imagines  is  love.  And  others 
would  have  me  for  the  gold-mine  that  is  in 
my  throat.  I  can  read  their  greed  in  their 
faces." 

Her  candid  bitterness  surprised  as  much  as 
it  charmed  me. 

"Aren't  you  a  little  hard  on  them?"  I 
ventured. 

"  Now,  am  I  ?  "  she  retorted.  "  Don't  be  a 
hypocrite.  Am  I?" 


204  THE    GHOST 

I  said  nothing. 

"  You  know  perfectly  well  I'm  not,"  she 
answered  for  me. 

"  But  I  admire  you,"  I  said. 

"You're  different,"  she  replied.  "You 
don't  belong  to  my  world.  That's  what 
pleases  me  in  you.  You  haven't  got  that  silly 
air  of  always  being  ready  to  lay  down  your 
life  for  me.  You  didn't  come  in  this  morning 
with  a  bunch  of  expensive  orchids,  and  beg 
that  I  should  deign  to  accept  them."  She 
pointed  to  various  bouquets  in  the  room. 
"  You  just  came  in  and  shook  hands,  and 
asked  me  how  I  was." 

"  I  never  thought  of  bringing  any  flowers," 
I  said  awkwardly. 

"Just  so.    That's  the  point.    That's  what  F 
like.     If  there  is  one  thing  that  I  can't  toler- 
ate, and  that  I  have  to  tolerate,  it's  '  atten- 
tions,' especially  from  people  who  copy  their 
deportment  from   Russian  Archdukes." 

"There  are  Archdukes?" 

"Why!  the  air  is  thick  with  them.  Why 
do  men  think  that  a  woman  is  flattered  by 
their  ridiculous  'attentions?'  If  they  knew 
how  sometimes  I  can  scarcely  keep  from 
laughing!  There  are  moments  when  I  would 


A   CHAT   WITH    ROSA  205 

give  anything  to  be  back  again  in  the  days 
when  I  knew  no  one  more  distinguished  than 
a  concierge.  There  was  more  sincerity  at  my 
disposal  then." 

"  But  surely  all  distinguished  people  are 
not  insincere?  " 

"  They  are  insincere  to  opera  singers  who 
happen  to  be  young,  beautiful,  and  rich, 
which  is  my  sad  case.  The  ways  of  the 
people  who  flutter  round  a  theatre  are  not  my 
ways.  I  was  brought  up  simply,  as  you  were 
in  your  Devonshire  home.  I  hate  to  spend 
my  life  as  if  it  was  one  long  diplomatic  recep- 
tion. Ugh!" 

She  clenched  her  hands,  and  one  of  the 
threads  of  the  necklace  gave  way,  and  the 
pearls  scattered  themselves  over  her  lap. 

"There!  That  necklace  was  given  to  me 
by  one  of  my  friends !  "  She  paused. 

"Yes?"    I   said  tentatively. 

"  He  is  dead  now.  You  have  heard  — 
every  one  knows  —  that  I  was  once  engaged 
to  Lord  Clarenceux.  He  was  a  friend.  He 
loved  me  —  he  died  —  my  friends  have  a 
habit  of  dying.  Alresca  died." 

The  conversation  halted.  I  wondered 
whether  I  might  speak  of  Lord  Clarenceux, 


206  THE   GHOST 

or  whether  to  do  so  would  be  an  indiscretion. 
She  began  to  collect  the  pearls. 

"  Yes,"  she  repeated  softly,  "  he  was  a 
friend." 

I  drew  a  strange  satisfaction  from  the  fact 
that,  though  she  had  said  frankly  that  he 
loved  her,  she  had  not  even  hinted  that  she 
loved  him. 

"  Lord  Clarenceux  must  have  been  a  great 
man,"  I  said. 

"  That  is  exactly  what  he  was,"  she  an- 
swered with  a  vague  enthusiasm.  "  And  a 
great  nobleman  too!  So  different  from  the 
others.  I  wish  I  could  describe  him  to  you, 
but  I  cannot.  He  was  immensely  rich  —  he 
looked  on  me  as  a  pauper.  He  had  the  finest 
houses,  the  finest  judgment  in  the  world. 
When  he  wanted  anything  he  got  it,  no  mat- 
ter what  the  cost.  All  dealers  knew  that,  and 
any  one  who  had  '  the  best '  to  sell  knew  that 
in  Lord  Clarenceux  he  would  find  a  pur- 
chaser. He  carried  things  with  a  high  hand. 
I  never  knew  another  man  so  determined,  or 
one  who  could  be  more  stern  or  more  ex- 
quisitely kind.  He  knew  every  sort  of  soci- 
ety, and  yet  he  had  never  married.  He  fell 
in  love  with  me,  and  offered  me  his  hand.  I 


A    CHAT   WITH    ROSA  207 

declined  —  I  was  afraid  of  him.  He  said  he 
would  shoot  himself.  And  he  would  have 
done  it;  so  I  accepted.  I  should  have  ended 
by  loving  him.  For  he  wished  me  to  love 
him,  and  he  always  had  his  way.  He  was  a 
man,  and  he  held  the  same  view  of  my  world 
that  I  myself  hold.  Mr.  Foster,  you  must 
think  I'm  in  a  very  chattering  mood/' 

I  protested  with  a  gesture. 

"  Lord  Clarenceux  died.  And  I  am  alone. 
I  was  terribly  lonely  after  his  death.  I 
missed  his  jealousy." 

"He  was  jealous?" 

"  He  was  the  most  jealous  man,  I  think, 
who  ever  lived.  His  jealousy  escorted  me 
everywhere  like  a  guard  of  soldiers.  Yet  I 
liked  him  even  for  that.  He  was  genuine;  so 
sincere,  so  masterful  with  it.  In  all  matters 
his  methods  were  drastic.  If  he  had  been 
alive  I  should  not  be  tormented  by  the  absurd 
fears  which  I  now  allow  to  get  the  better  of 


me/' 


:'  Fears!    About  what?" 

"  To  be  frank,  about  my  debut  at  the  Opera 
Comique.  I  can  imagine,"  she  smiled,  "  how 
he  would  have  dealt  with  that  situation." 

"You  are  afraid  of  something?" 


208  THE    GHOST 

"  Yes." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  merely  fear.  .  .  .  There 
is  Carlotta  Deschamps." 

"  Miss  Rosa,  a  few  minutes  ago  you  called 
me  your  friend."  My  voice  was  emotional;  I 
felt  it. 

"  I  did,  because  you  are.  I  have  no  claim 
on  you,  but  you  have  been  very  good  to  me." 

"  You  have  the  best  claim  on  me.  Will  you 
rely  on  me?" 

We  looked  at  each  other. 

"  I  will,"  she  said.  I  stood  before  her,  and 
she  took  my  hand. 

'  You  say  you  fear.  I  hope  your  fears  are 
groundless  —  candidly,  I  can't  see  how  they 
can  be  otherwise.  But  suppose  anything 
should  happen.  Well,  I  shall  be  at  your 


service." 


At  that  moment  some  one  knocked  and  en- 
tered. It  was  Yvette.  She  avoided  my 
glance. 

"  Madame  will  take  her  egg-and-milk  be- 
fore going  to  rehearsal  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Yvette.    Bring  it  to  me  here,  please." 

"You  have  a  rehearsal  to-day?"  I  asked. 
"  I  hope  I'm  not  detaining  you." 


A    CHAT    WITH    ROSA  209 

"  Not  at  all.  The  call  is  for  three  o'clock. 
This  is  the  second  one,  and  they  fixed  the 
hour  to  suit  me.  It  is  really  my  first  re- 
hearsal, because  at  the  previous  one  I  was  too 
hoarse  to  sing  a  note." 

I  rose  to  go. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  come  with  me  to  the 
theatre  ?  "  she  said  with  an  adorable  accent  of 
invitation. 

My  good  fortune  staggered  me. 

After  she  had  taken  her  egg-and-milk  we 
set  out. 


CHAPTER   XII 

EGG  -  AND  -  MILK 

I  was  intensely  conscious  of  her  beauty  as 
I  sat  by  her  side  in  the  swiftly  rolling  vic- 
toria. And  I  was  conscious  of  other  qualities 
in  her  too  —  of  her  homeliness,  her  good-fel- 
lowship, her  trustfulness.  The  fact  that  she 
was  one  of  the  most  famous  personalities 
in  Europe  did  not,  after  our  talk,  in  the  least 
disturb  my  pleasing  dreams  of  a  possible 
future.  It  was,  nevertheless,  specially  forced 
upon  me,  for  as  we  drove  along  the  Rue  de 
Rivoli,  past  the  interminable  facades  of  the 
Louvre,  and  the  big  shops,  and  so  into  the 
meaner  quarter  of  the  markets  —  the  Opera 
Comique  was  then  situated  in  its  temporary 
home  in  the  Place  du  Chatelet  —  numberless 
wayfarers  showed  by  their  demeanor  of  curi- 
osity that  Rosetta  Rosa  was  known  to  them. 
They  were  much  more  polite  than  English 
people  would  have  been,  but  they  did  not 
hide  their  interest  in  us. 

210 


EGG -AND -MILK  211 

The  jewels  had  been  locked  away  in  a  safe, 
except  one  gorgeous  emerald  brooch  which 
she  was  wearing  at  her  neck. 

"  It  appears,"  I  said,  "  that  in  Paris  one 
must  not  even  attend  rehearsals  without 
jewels." 

She  laughed. 

"You  think  I  have  a  passion  for  jewels, 
and  you  despise  me  for  it." 

"  By  no  means.  Nobody  has  a  better  right 
to  wear  precious  stones  than  yourself." 

"  Can  you  guess  why  I  wear  them  ?  " 

"  Not  because  they  make  you  look  prettier, 
for  that's  impossible." 

"  Will  you  please  remember  that  I  like  you 
because  you  are  not  in  the  habit  of  making 
speeches." 

"  I  beg  pardon.  I  won't  offend  again. 
Well,  then,  I  will  confess  that  I  don't  know 
why  you  wear  jewels.  There  must  be  a 
Puritan  strain  in  my  character,  for  I  cannot 
enter  into  the  desire  for  jewels.  I  say  this 
merely  because  you  have  practically  invited 
me  to  be  brutal." 

Now  that  I  recall  that  conversation  I  real- 
ize how  gentle  she  was  towards  my  crude  and 


212  THE    GHOST 

callous  notions  concerning  personal  adorn- 
ment. 

"  Yet  you  went  to  England  in  order  to 
fetch  my  jewels." 

"  No,  I  went  to  England  in  order  to  be  of 
use  to  a  lady.  But  tell  me  —  why  do  you 
wear  jewels  off  the  stage?  " 

"  Simply  because,  having  them,  I  have  a 
sort  of  feeling  that  they  ought  to  be  used.  It 
seems  a  waste  to  keep  them  hidden  in  a 
strong  box,  and  I  never  could  tolerate  waste. 
Really,  I  scarcely  care  more  for  jewels,  as 
jewels,  than  you  do  yourself." 

"  Still,  for  a  person  who  doesn't  care  for 
them,  you  seem  to  have  a  fair  quantity  of 
them." 

"  Ah !  But  many  were  given  to  me  —  and 
the  rest  I  bought  when  I  was  young,  or  soon 
afterwards.  Besides,  they  are  part  of  my 
stock  in  trade." 

"When  you  were  young!"  I  repeated, 
smiling.  "  How  long  is  that  since?  " 

"Ages." 

I  coughed. 

"  It  is  seven  years  since  I  was  young,"  she 
said,  "  and  I  was  sixteen  at  the  time." 


EGG -AND -MILK  213 

"  You  are  positively  venerable,  then ;  and 
since  you  are,  I  must  be  too." 

"  I  am  much  older  than  you  are,"  she  said; 
"  not  in  years,  but  in  life.  You  don't  feel  old." 

"And  do  you?" 

"  Frightfully." 

"What  brings  it  on?" 

"  Oh !  Experience  —  and  other  things.  It 
is  the  soul  which  grows  old." 

"But  you  have  been  happy?" 

"  Never  —  never  in  my  life,  except  when  I 
was  singing,  have  I  been  happy.  Have  you 
been  happy?" 

"Yes,"   I  said,   "once  or  twice." 

"When  you  were  a  boy?" 

"  No,  since  I  have  become  a  man.  Just  — 
just  recently." 

"  People  fancy  they  are  happy,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"  Isn't  that  the  same  thing  as  being 
happy?  " 

"  Perhaps."  Then  suddenly  changing  the 
subject :  "  You  haven't  told  me  about  your 
journey.  Just  a  bare  statement  that  there  was 
a  delay  on  the  railway  and  another  delay  on 
the  steamer.  Don't  you  think  you  ought  to 
fill  in  the  details?" 


214  THE    GHOST 

So  I  filled  them  in;  but  I  said  nothing 
about  my  mysterious  enemy  who  had  accom- 
panied me,  and  who  after  strangely  disap- 
pearing and  reappearing  had  disappeared 
again;  nor  about  the  woman  whom  I  had 
met  on  the  Admiralty  Pier.  I  wondered 
when  he  might  reappear  once  more.  There 
was  no  proper  reason  why  I  should  not  have 
told  Rosa  about  these  persons,  but  some  in- 
stinctive feeling,  some  timidity  of  spirit,  pre- 
vented me  from  doing  so. 

"  How  thrilling !  Were  you  frightened  on 
the  steamer?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  admitted  frankly. 

"  You  may  not  think  it,"  she  said,  "  but  I 
should  not  have  been  frightened.  I  have 
never  been  frightened  at  Death." 

"  But  have  you  ever  been  near  him?  " 

"  Who  knows  ? "  she  answered  thought- 
fully. 

We  were  at  the  stage-door  of  the  theatre. 
The  olive-liveried  footman  dismounted,  and 
gravely  opened  the  door  of  the  carriage.  I 
got  out,  and  gave  my  hand  to  Rosa,  and  we 
entered  the  theatre. 

In  an  instant  she  had  become  the  prima 
donna.  The  curious  little  officials  of  the 


EGG -AND -MILK  215 

theatre  bowed  before  her,  and  with  pro- 
digious smiles  waved  us  forward  to  the  stage. 
The  stage-manager,  a  small,  fat  man  with 
white  hair,  was  drilling  the  chorus.  As  soon 
as  he  caught  sight  of  us  he  dismissed  the 
short-skirted  girls  and  the  fatigued-looking 
men,  and  skipped  towards  us.  The  orchestra 
suddenly  ceased.  Every  one  was  q.uiet.  The 
star  had  come. 

"  Good  day,  mademoiselle.  You  are  here 
to  the  moment." 

Rosa  and  the  regisseur  talked  rapidly  to- 
gether, and  presently  the  conductor  of  the 
orchestra  stepped  from  his  raised  chair  on  to 
the  stage,  and  with  a  stately  inclination  to 
Rosa  joined  in  the  conversation.  As  for  me, 
I  looked  about,  and  was  stared  at.  So  far  as 
I  could  see  there  was  not  much  difference 
between  an  English  stage  and  a  French  stage, 
viewed  at  close  quarters,  except  that  the 
French  variety  possesses  perhaps  more  offi- 
cials and  a  more  bureaucratic  air.  I  gazed 
into  the  cold,  gloomy  auditorium,  so  bare  of 
decoration,  and  decided  that  in  England  such 
an  auditorium  wouldvnot  be  tolerated. 

After  much  further  chatter  the  conductor 
bowed  again,  and  returned  to  his  seat.  Rosa 


216  THE    GHOST 

beckoned  to  me,  and  I  was  introduced  to  the 
stage-manager. 

"  Allow  me  to  present  to  you  Mr.  Foster, 
one  of  my  friends." 

Rosa  coughed,  and  I  noticed  that  her  voice 
was  slightly  hoarse. 

"  You  have  taken  cold  during  the  drive," 
I  said,  pouring  into  the  sea  of  French  a  little 
stream  of  English. 

"  Oh,  no.  It  is  nothing;  it  will  pass  off  in 
a  minute." 

The  stage-manager  escorted  me  to  a  chair 
near  a  grand  piano  which  stood  in  the  wings. 
Then  some  male  artists,  evidently  people  of 
importance,  appeared  out  of  the  darkness  at 
the  back  of  the  stage.  Rosa  took  off  her  hat 
and  gloves,  and  placed  them  on  the  grand 
piano.  I  observed  that  she  was  flushed,  and 
I  put  it  down  to  the  natural  excitement  of  the 
artist  about  to  begin  work.  The  orchestra 
sounded  resonantly  in  the  empty  theatre,  and, 
under  the  yellow  glare  of  unshaded  electricity, 
the  rehearsal  of  "  Carmen  "  began  at  the  point 
where  Carmen  makes  her  first  entry. 

As  Rosa  came  to  the  centre  of  the  stage 
from  the  wings  she  staggered.  One  would 
have  thought  she  was  drunk.  At  her  cue, 


EGG -AND -MILK  217 

instead  of  commencing  to  sing,  she  threw  up 
her  hands,  and  with  an  appealing  glance  at 
me  sank  down  to  the  floor.  I  rushed  to  her, 
and  immediately  the  entire  personnel  of  the 
theatre  was  in  a  state  of  the  liveliest  excite- 
ment. I  thought  of  a  similar  scene  in  London 
not  many  months  before.  But  the  poor  girl 
was  perfectly  conscious,  and  even  self-pos- 
sessed. 

"Water!"  she  murmured.  "I  shall  die  of 
thirst  if  you  don't  give  me  some  water  to 
drink  at  once." 

There  appeared  to  be  no  water  within  the 
theatre,  but  at  last  some  one  appeared  with  a 
carafe  and  glass.  She  drank  two  glassfuls, 
and  then  dropped  the  glass,  which  broke  on 
the  floor. 

"I  am  not  well,"  she  said;  "I  feel  so  hot, 
and  there  is  that  hoarseness  in  my  throat. 
Mr.  Foster,  you  must  take  me  home.  The  re- 
hearsal will  have  to  be  postponed  again;  I 
am  sorry.  It's  very  queer." 

She  stood  up  with  my  assistance,  looking 
wildly  about  her,  but  appealing  to  no  one  but 
myself. 

"  It  is  queer,"  I  said,  supporting  her. 

"  Mademoiselle  was  ill  in  the  same  way  last 


218  THE    GHOST 

time,"  several  sympathetic  voices  cried  out, 
and  some  of  the  women  caressed  her  gently. 

"  Let  me  get  home,"  she  said,  half-shouting, 
and  she  clung  to  me.  "  My  hat  —  my  gloves 
—  quick!" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  I  said;   "  I  will  get  a  fiacre. 

'Why  not  my  victoria?"  she  questioned 
imperiously. 

"  Because  you  must  go  in  a  closed  car- 
riage," I  said  firmly. 

"  Mademoiselle  will  accept  my  brougham?  " 

A  tall  dark  man  had  come  forward.  He  was 
the  Escamillo.  She  thanked  him  with  a  look. 
Some  woman  threw  a  cloak  over  Rosa's  shoul- 
ders, and,  the  baritone  on  one  side  of  her  and 
myself  on  the  other,  we  left  the  theatre.  It 
seemed  scarcely  a  moment  since  she  had  en- 
tered it  confident  and  proud. 

During  the  drive  back  to  her  flat  I  did  not 
speak,  but  I  examined  her  narrowly.  Her 
skin  was  dry  and  burning,  and  on  her  fore- 
head there  was  a  slight  rash.  Her  lips  were 
dry,  and  she  continually  made  the  motion  of 
swallowing.  Her  eyes  sparkled,  and  they 
seemed  to  stand  out  from  her  head.  Also 
she  still  bitterly  complained  of  thirst.  She 
wanted,  indeed,  to  stop  the  carriage  and  have 


EGG -AND -MILK  219 

something  to  drink  at  the  Cafe  de  1'Univers, 
but  I  absolutely  declined  to  permit  such  a 
proceeding,  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  were  at 
her  flat.  The  attack  was  passing  away.  She 
mounted  the  stairs  without  much  difficulty. 

"  You  must  go  to  bed,"  I  said.  We  were 
in  the  salon.  "  In  a  few  hours  you  will  be 
better." 

"  I  will  ring  for  Yvette." 

"  No/'  I  said,  "  you  will  not  ring  for  Yvette. 
I  want  Yvette  myself.  Have  you  no  other 
servant  who  can  assist  you?" 

"Yes.     But  why  not  Yvette?" 

"  You  can  question  me  to-morrow.  Please 
obey  me  now.  I  am  your  doctor.  I  will  ring 
the  bell.  Yvette  will  come,  and  you  will  at 
once  go  out  of  the  room,  find  another  servant, 
and  retire  to  bed.  You  can  do  that  ?  You  are 
not  faint?" 

"  No,  I  can  do  it ;  but  it  is  very  queer." 

I  rang  the  bell. 

"  You  have  said  that  before,  and  I  say,  '  It 
is  queer;  queerer  than  you  imagine/  One 
thing  I  must  ask  you  before  you  go.  When 
you  had  the  attack  in  the  theatre  did  you  see 
things  double?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,     "  But  how  did  you 


220  THE    GHOST 

know?     I  felt  as  though  I  was  intoxicated; 
but  I  had  taken  nothing  whatever/' 

"  Excuse  me,  you  had  taken  egg-and-milk. 
Here  is  the  glass  out  of  which  you  drank  it." 
I  picked  up  the  glass,  which  had  been  left  on 
the  table,  and  which  still  contained  about  a 
spoonful  of  egg-and-milk. 

Yvette  entered  in  response  to  my  summons. 

"  Mademoiselle  has  returned  soon,"  the  girl 
began  lightly. 

"  Yes." 

The  two  women  looked  at  each  other.  I 
hastened  to  the  door,  and  held  it  open  for 
Rosa  to  pass  out.  She  did  so.  I  closed  the 
door,  and  put  my  back  against  it.  The  glass 
I  still  held  in  my  hand. 

"  Now,  Yvette,  I  want  to  ask  you  a  few 
questions." 

She  stood  before  me,  pretty  even  in  her 
plain  black  frock  and  black  apron,  and  folded 
her  hands.  Her  face  showed  no  emotion 
whatever. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  but  mademoiselle  will  need 


me." 


"  Mademoiselle  will  not  need  you.    She  will 
never  need  you  again." 
"  Monsieur  says  ?  " 


EGG -AND -MILK  221 

"  You  see  this  glass.  What  did  you  put  in 
it?" 

"  The  cook  put  egg-and-milk  into  it." 

"  I  ask  what  you  put  in  it?  " 

"I,  monsieur?     Nothing." 

"  You  are  lying,  my  girl.  Your  mistress 
has  been  poisoned." 

"I  swear " 

"  I  should  advise  you  not  to  swear.  You 
have  twice  attempted  to  poison  your  mistress. 
Why  did  you  do  it?" 

"  But  this  is  absurd." 

"  Does  your  mistress  use  eyedrops  when 
she  sings  at  the  Opera?" 

"Eyedrops?" 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  A  lotion  which 
you  drop  into  the  eye  in  order  to  dilate  the 
pupil." 

"  My  mistress  never  uses  eyedrops." 

"  Does  Madame  Carlotta  Deschamps  use 
eyedrops?  " 

It  was  a  courageous  move  on  my  part,  but 
it  had  its  effect.  She  was  startled. 

"I  —  I  don't  know,  monsieur." 

"I  ask  because  eyedrops  contain  atropine, 
and  mademoiselle  is  suffering  from  a  slight, 
a  very  slight,  attack  of  atropine  poisoning. 


222  THE    GHOST 

The  dose  must  have  been  very  nicely  gauged; 
it  was  just  enough  to  produce  a  temporary 
hoarseness  and  discomfort.  I  needn't  tell  such 
a  clever  girl  as  you  that  atropine  acts  first  on 
the  throat.  It  has  clearly  been  some  one's 
intention  to  prevent  mademoiselle  from  sing- 
ing at  rehearsals,  and  from  appearing  in 
Paris  in  '  Carmen/  ' 

Yvette  drew  herself  up,  her  nostrils  quiver- 
ing. She  had  turned  decidedly  pale. 

"  Monsieur  insults  me  by  his  suspicions.  I 
must  go." 

"  You  won't  go  just  immediately.  I  may 
tell  you  further  that  I  have  analyzed  the  con- 
tents of  this  glass,  and  have  found  traces  of 
atropine." 

I  had  done  no  such  thing,  but  that  was  a 
detail. 

"  Also,  I  have  sent  for  the  police." 

This,  too,  was  an  imaginative  statement. 

Yvette  approached  me  suddenly,  and  flung 
her  arms  round  my  neck.  I  had  just  time  to 
put  the  glass  on  the  seat  of  a  chair  and  seize 
her  hands. 

"No,"  I  said,  "you  will  neither  spill  that 
glass  nor  break  it." 

She  dropped  at  my  feet  weeping. 


EGG -AND -MILK  223 

"  Have  pity  on  me,  monsieur !  "  She  looked 
up  at  me  through  her  tears,  and  the  pose  was 
distinctly  effective.  "  It  was  Madame  Des- 
champs  who  asked  me  to  do  it.  I  used  to  be 
with  her  before  I  came  to  mademoiselle.  She 
gave  me  the  bottle,  but  I  didn't  know  it  was 
poison  —  I  swear  I  didn't !  " 

"What  did  you  take  it  to  be,  then?  Jam? 
Two  grains  of  atropine  will  cause  death." 

For  answer  she  clung  to  my  knees.  I  re- 
leased myself,  and  moved  away  a  few  steps. 
She  jumped  up,  and  made  a  dash  for  the  door, 
but  I  happened  to  have  locked  it. 

"Where  is  Madame  Deschamps?"  I  asked. 

"She  returns  to  Paris  to-morrow.  Mon- 
sieur will  let  me  go.  I  was  only  a  tool." 

"I  will  consider  that  matter,  Yvette,"  I 
said.  "  In  my  opinion  you  are  a  thoroughly 
wicked  girl,  and  I  wouldn't  trust  you  any 
further  than  I  could  see  you.  For  the  pres- 
ent, you  will  have  an  opportunity  to  meditate 
over  your  misdoings."  I  left  the  room,  and 
locked  the  door  on  the  outside. 

Impossible  to  disguise  the  fact  that  I  was 
enormously  pleased  with  myself  —  with  my 
sharpness,  my  smartness,  my  penetration,  my 
success. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE    PORTRAIT 

For  the  next  hour  or  two  I  wandered  about 
Rosa's  flat  like  an  irresolute  and  bewildered 
spirit.  I  wished  to  act,  yet  without  Rosa  I 
scarcely  liked  to  do  so.  That  some  sort  of  a 
plot  existed  —  whether  serious  or  trivial  was 
no  matter  —  there  could  be  little  doubt,  and 
there  could  be  little  doubt  also  that  Carlotta 
Deschamps  was  at  the  root  of  it. 

Several  half-formed  schemes  flitted  through 
my  head,  but  none  of  them  seemed  to  be  suf- 
ficiently clever.  I  had  the  idea  of  going  to 
see  Carlotta  Deschamps  in  order  to  warn  her. 
Then  I  thought  the  warning  might  perhaps 
be  sent  through  her  sister  Marie,  who  was 
doubtless  in  Paris,  and  who  would  probably 
be  able  to  control  Carlotta.  I  had  not  got 
Carlotta's  address,  but  I  might  get  it  by  going 
to  the  Casino  de  Paris,  and  asking  Marie  for 
it.  Perhaps  Marie,  suspicious,  might  refuse 

224 


THE    PORTRAIT  225 

the  address.  Had  she  not  said  that  she  and 
Carlotta  were  as  thick  as  thieves?  More- 
over, assuming  that  I  could  see  Carlotta,  what 
should  I  say  to  her?  How  should  I  begin? 
Then  it  occurred  to  me  that  the  shortest  way 
with  such  an  affair  was  to  go  directly  to  the 
police,  as  I  had  already  threatened  Yvette; 
but  the  appearance  of  the  police  would  mean 
publicity,  scandal,  and  other  things  unpleas- 
ant for  Rosa.  So  it  fell  out  that  I  maintained 
a  discreet  inactivity. 

Towards  nightfall  I  went  into  the  street  to 
breathe  the  fresh  air.  A  man  was  patrolling 
the  pavement  in  a  somewhat  peculiar  manner. 
I  returned  indoors,  and  after  half  an  hour 
reconnoitred  once  more.  The  man  was  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  road,  with  his  eyes 
on  the  windows  of  the  salon.  When  he 
caught  sight  of  me  he  walked  slowly  away. 
He  might  have  been  signalling  to  Yvette,  who 
was  still  under  lock  and  key,  but  this  possi- 
bility did  not  disturb  me,  as  escape  was  out 
of  the  question  for  her. 

I  went  back  to  the  flat,  and  a  servant  met 
me  in  the  hall  with  a  message  that  mademoi- 
selle was  now  quite  recovered,  and  would  like 
to  see  me  in  her  boudoir.  I  hurried  to  her. 


226  THE   GHOST 

A  fire  was  burning  on  the  hearth,  and  before 
this  were  two  lounge  chairs.  Rosa  occupied 
one,  and  she  motioned  me  to  the  other.  At- 
tired in  a  peignoir  of  pure  white,  and  still  a 
little  languorous  after  the  attack,  she  looked 
the  enchanting  perfection  of  beauty  and  grace. 
But  in  her  eyes,  which  were  unduly  bright, 
there  shone  an  apprehension,  the  expectancy 
of  the  unknown. 

"  I  am  better/'  she  said,  with  a  faint  smile. 
"  Feel  my  pulse." 

I  held  her  wrist  and  took  out  my  watch, 
but  I  forgot  to  count,  and  I  forgot  to  note 
the  seconds.  I  was  gazing  at  her.  It  seemed 
absurd  to  contemplate  the  possibility  of  ever 
being  able  to  call  her  my  own. 

"Am  I  not  better?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  I  said;  "the  pulse  is  — the 
pulse  is  —  you  are  much  better." 

Then  I  pushed  my  chair  a  little  further 
from  the  fire,  and  recollected  that  there  were 
several  things  to  be  said  and  done. 

"  I  expected  the  attack  would  pass  very 
quickly,"  I  said. 

"  Then  you  know  what  I  have  been  suffer- 
ing from,"  she  said,  turning  her  chair  rapidly 
half-round  towards  me. 


THE    PORTRAIT  227 

"  I  do,"  I  answered,  with  emphasis. 

"What  is  it?" 

I  was  silent. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  tell  me  what  it  is."  She 
laughed,  but  her  voice  was  low  and  anxious. 

"  I  am  just  wondering  whether  I  shall  tell 
you." 

"  Stuff!  "  she  exclaimed  proudly.  "  Am  I  a 
child?" 

"  You  are  a  woman,  and  should  be  shielded 
from  the  sharp  edges  of  life." 

"  Ah !  "  she  murmured  "  Not  all  men  have 
thought  so.  And  I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk 
like  that." 

"Nevertheless,  I  think  like  that,"  I  said. 
"And  I'm  really  anxious  to  save  you  from 
unnecessary  annoyance." 

"  Then  I  insist  that  you  shall  tell  me,"  she 
replied  inconsequently.  "  I  will  not  have  you 
adopt  that  attitude  towards  me.  Do  you 
understand?  I  won't  have  it!  I'm  not  a 
Dresden  shepherdess,  and  I  won't  be  treated 
like  one  —  at  any  rate,  by  you.  So  there !  " 

I  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  felicity. 

"  If  you  will  have  it,  you  have  been  poi- 
soned." 

I  told  her  of  my  suspicions,  and  how  they 


228  THE    GHOST 

had  been  confirmed  by  Yvette's  avowal.  She 
shivered,  and  then  stood  up  and  came  towards 
me. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Carlotta  Des- 
champs  and  my  own  maid  have  conspired 
together  to  poison  me  simply  because  I  am 
going  to  sing  in  a  certain  piece  at  a  certain 
theatre?  It's  impossible!" 

"  But  it  is  true.  Deschamps  may  not  have 
wished  to  kill  you;  she  merely  wanted  to 
prevent  you  from  singing,  but  she  ran  a  seri- 
ous risk  of  murder,  and  she  must  have  known 
it." 

Rosa  began  to  sob,  and  I  led  her  back  to 
her  chair. 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  told  you  to-night," 
I  said.  "  But  we  should  communicate  with 
the  police,  and  I  wanted  your  authority  before 
doing  so." 

She  dried  her  eyes,  but  her  frame  still 
shook. 

"  I  will  sing  '  Carmen/  "  she  said  passion- 
ately. 

"  Of  course  you  will.  We  must  get  these 
two  arrested,  and  you  shall  have  proper  pro- 
tection." 

"Police?    No!    We  will  have  no  police." 


THE    PORTRAIT  229 

"  You  object  to  the  scandal?  I  had  thought 
of  that." 

"  It  is  not  that  I  object  to  the  scandal.  I 
despise  Deschamps  and  Yvette  too  much  to 
take  the  slightest  notice  of  either  of  them.  I 
could  not  have  believed  that  women  would 
so  treat,  another  woman."  She  hid  her  face 
in  her  hands. 

"  But  is  it  not  your  duty "  I  began. 

"  Mr.  Foster,  please,  please  don't  argue.  I 
am  incapable  of  prosecuting  these  creatures. 
You  say  Yvette  is  locked  up  in  the  salon.  Go 
to  her,  and  tell  her  to  depart.  Tell  her  that 
I  shall  do  nothing,  that  I  do  not  hate  her, 
that  I  bear  her  no  ill-will,  that  I  simply  ignore 
her.  And  let  her  carry  the  same  message  to 
Carlotta  Deschamps." 

"Suppose  there  should  be  a  further  plot?" 

"  There  can't  be.  Knowing  that  this  one  is 
discovered,  they  will  never  dare.  .  .  .  And 
even  if  they  tried  again  in  some  other  way, 
I  would  sooner  walk  in  danger  all  my  life 
than  acknowledge  the  existence  of  such  crea- 
tures. Will  you  go  at  once?  " 

"  As  you  wish ;  "  and  I  went  out. 

"  Mr.  Foster." 

She  called  me  back.    Taking  my  hand  with 


230  THE    GHOST 

a  gesture  half-caressing,  she  raised  her  face 
to  mine.  Our  eyes  met,  and  in  hers  was  a 
gentle,  trustful  appeal,  a  pathetic  and  entran- 
cing wistfulness,  which  sent  a  sudden  thrill 
through  me.  Her  clasp  of  my  ringers  tight- 
ened ever  so  little. 

"  I  haven't  thanked  you  in  words,"  she  said, 
"  for  all  you  have  done  for  me,  and  are  doing. 
But  you  know  I'm  grateful,  don't  you?" 

I  could  feel  the  tears  coming  into  my  eyes. 

"  It  is  nothing,  absolutely  nothing,"  I  mut- 
tered, and  hurried  from  the  room. 

At  first,  in  the  salon,  I  could  not  see  Yvette, 
though  the  electric  light  had  been  turned  on, 
no  doubt  by  herself.  Then  there  was  a  move- 
ment of  one  of  the  window-curtains,  and  she 
appeared  from  behind  it. 

"  Oh,  it  is  you,"  she  said  calmly,  with  a  cold 
smile.  She  had  completely  recovered  her  self- 
possession,  so  much  was  evident;  and  appar- 
ently she  was  determined  to  play  the  game  to 
the  end,  accepting  defeat  with  an  air  of  iron- 
ical and  gay  indifference.  Yvette  was  by  no 
means  an  ordinary  woman.  Her  face  was  at 
once  sinister  and  attractive,  with  lines  of 
strength  about  it;  she  moved  with  a  certain 
distinction;  she  had  brains  and  various  abil- 


THE    PORTRAIT  231 

ities;  and  I  imagined  her  to  have  been  capa- 
ble of  some  large  action,  a  first-class  sin  or 
a  really  dramatic  self-sacrifice  —  she  would 
have  been  ready  for  either.  But  of  her  origin 
I  am  to  this  day  as  ignorant  as  of  her  ulti- 
mate fate. 

A  current  of  air  told  me  that  a  window 
was  open. 

"  I  noticed  a  suspicious-looking  man  out- 
side just  now,"  I  said.  "  Is  he  one  of  your 
confederates?  Have  you  been  communicat- 
ing with  him?  " 

She  sat  down  in  an  armchair,  leaned  back- 
wards, and  began  to  hum  an  air  —  la,  la,  la. 

"  Answer  me.     Come !  " 

"And  if  I  decline?" 

"  You  will  do  well  to  behave  yourself,"  I 
said;  and,  going  to  the  window,  I  closed  it, 
and  slipped  the  catch. 

"  I  hope  the  gendarmes  will  be  here  soon," 
she  murmured  amiably ;  "  I  am  rather  tired 
of  waiting."  She  affected  to  stifle  a  yawn. 

"  Yvette,"  I  said,  "  you  know  as  well  as  I 
do  that  you  have  committed  a  serious  crime. 
Tell  me  all  about  Deschamps'  jealousy  of  your 
mistress;  make  a  full  confession,  and  I  will 
see  what  can  be  done  for  you." 


232  THE    GHOST 

She  put  her  thin  lips  together. 

"  No,"  she  replied  in  a  sharp  staccato.  "  I 
have  done  what  I  have  done,  and  I  will  an- 
swer only  the  juge  destruction." 

"  Better  think  twice." 

"  Never.    It  is  a  trick  you  wish  to  play  on 


me." 


"Very   well."     I   went   to   the   door,   and 
opened  it  wide.     "  You  are  free  to  go." 
"To  go?" 

"  It  is  your  mistress's  wish." 
"She  will  not  send  me  to  prison?" 
"  She  scorns  to  do  anything  whatever." 
For  a  moment  the  girl  looked  puzzled,  and 
then: 

"Ah!  it  is  a  bad  pleasantry;  the  gendarmes 
are  on  the  stairs." 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders,  and  at  length  she 
tripped  quietly  out  of  the  room.  I  heard  her 
run  down-stairs.  Then,  to  my  astonishment, 
the  footfalls  approached  again,  and  Yvette  re- 
entered  the  room  and  closed  the  door. 

"  I  see  it  is  not  a  bad  pleasantry,"  she 
began,  with  her  back  to  the  door.  "  Made- 
moiselle is  a  great  lady,  and  I  have  always 
known  that;  she  is  an  artist;  she  has  soul  — 
so  have  I.  What  you  could  not  force  from 


THE    PORTRAIT  233 

me,  neither  you  nor  any  man,  I  will  tell  you 
of  my  own  free  will.  You  want  to  hear  of 
Deschamps?  " 

I  nodded,  half-admiring  her  —  perhaps  more 
than  half. 

"  She  is  a  woman  to  fear.  I  have  told  you 
I  used  to  be  her  maid  before  I  came  to  made- 
moiselle, and  even  I  was  always  afraid  of  her. 
But  I  liked  her.  We  understood  each  other, 
Deschamps  and  I.  Mademoiselle  imagines 
that  Deschamps  became  jealous  of  her  be- 
cause of  a  certain  affair  that  happened  at  the 
Opera  Comique  several  years  ago  —  a  mere 
quarrel  of  artists,  of  which  I  have  seen  many. 
That  was  partly  the  cause,  but  there  was 
something  else.  Deschamps  used  to  think 
that  Lord  Clarenceux  was  in  love  with  her  — 
with  her!  As  a  fact,  he  was  not;  but  she 
used  to  think  so,  and  when  Lord  Clarenceux 
first  began  to  pay  attention  to  mademoiselle, 
then  it  was  that  the  jealousy  of  Deschamps 
really  sprang  up.  Ah!  I  have  heard  Des- 
champs swear  to  —  But  that  is  nothing. 
She  never  forgave  mademoiselle  for  being  be- 
trothed to  Lord  Clarenceux.  When  he  died, 
she  laughed;  but  her  hatred  of  mademoiselle 
was  unchanged.  It  smouldered,  only  it  was 


234  THE   GHOST 

very  hot  underneath.  And  I  can  understand 
—  Lord  Clarenceux  was  so  handsome  and  so 
rich,  the  most  fine  stern  man  I  ever  saw.  He 
used  to  give  me  hundred-franc  notes." 

"  Never  mind  the  notes.  Why  has  Des- 
champs' jealousy  revived  so  suddenly  just 
recently?" 

"Why?  Because  mademoiselle  would  come 
back  to  the  Opera  Comique.  Deschamps 
could  not  suffer  that.  And  when  she  heard 
it  was  to  be  so,  she  wrote  to  me  —  to  me !  — 
and  asked  if  it  was  true  that  mademoiselle 
was  to  appear  as  Carmen.  Then  she  came  to 
see  me  —  me  —  and  I  was  obliged  to  tell  her 
it  was  true,  and  she  was  frightfully  angry, 
and  then  she  began  to  cry  —  oh,  her  despair ! 
She  said  she  knew  a  way  to  stop  mademoi- 
selle from  singing,  and  she  begged  me  to  help 
her,  and  I  said  I  would." 

"  You  were  willing  to  betray  your  mis- 
tress?" 

"  Deschamps  swore  it  would  do  no  real 
harm.  Do  I  not  tell  you  that  Deschamps 
and  I  always  liked  each  other?  We  were  old 
friends.  I  sympathized  with  her;  she  is  grow- 
ing old." 

"  How  much  did  she  promise  to  pay  you  ?  " 


THE    PORTRAIT  235 

"  Not  a  sou  —  not  a  centime.  I  swear  it." 
The  girl  stamped  her  foot  and  threw  up  her 
head,  reddening  with  the  earnestness  of  her 
disclaimer.  "What  I  did,  I  did  from  love; 
and  I  thought  it  would  not  harm  mademoi- 
selle, really." 

"  Nevertheless  you  might  have  killed  your 
mistress." 

"Alas!" 

"  Answer  me  this :  Now  that  your  attempt 
has  failed,  what  will  Deschamps  do?  Will 
she  stop,  or  will  she  try  something  else?" 

Yvette  shook  her  head  slowly. 

"  I  do  not  know.  She  is  dangerous.  Some- 
times she  is  like  a  mad  woman.  You  must 
take  care.  For  myself,  I  will  never  see  her 
again." 

"  You  give  your  word  on  that?  " 

"  I  have  said  it.  There  is  nothing  more  to 
tell  you.  So,  adieu.  Say  to  mademoiselle 
that  I  have  repented." 

She  opened  the  door,  and  as  she  did  so  her 
eye  seemed  by  chance  to  catch  a  small  picture 
which  hung  by  the  side  of  the  hearth.  My 
back  was  to  the  fireplace,  and  I  did  not 
trouble  to  follow  her  glance. 

"  Ah,"  she  murmured  reflectively,  "  he  was 


236  THE    GHOST 

the  most  fine  stern  man  .  .  .  and  he  gave  me 
hundred-franc  notes." 

Then  she  was  gone.  We  never  saw  nor 
heard  of  Yvette  again. 

Out  of  curiosity,  I  turned  to  look  at  the 
picture  which  must  have  caught  her  eye.  It 
was  a  little  photograph,  framed  in  black,  and 
hung  by  itself  on  the  wall;  in  the  ordinary 
way  one  would  scarcely  have  noticed  it.  I 
went  close  up  to  it.  My  heart  gave  a  jump, 
and  I  seemed  to  perspire.  The  photograph 
was  a  portrait  of  the  man  who,  since  my  ac- 
quaintance with  Rosa,  had  haunted  my  foot- 
steps —  the  mysterious  and  implacable  per- 
son whom  I  had  seen  first  opposite  the  Devon- 
shire Mansion,  then  in  the  cathedral  at  Bruges 
during  my  vigil  by  the  corpse  of  Alresca, 
then  in  the  train  which  was  wrecked,  and 
finally  in  the  Channel  steamer  which  came 
near  to  sinking.  Across  the  lower  part  of  it 
ran  the  signature,  in  large,  stiff  characters, 
"  Clarenceux." 

So  Lord  Clarenceux  was  not  dead,  though 
every  one  thought  him  so.  Here  was  a  mys- 
tery more  disturbing  than  anything  which 
had  gone  before. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE   VILLA 

It  seemed  to  be  my  duty  to  tell  Rosa,  of 
course  with  all  possible  circumspection,  that, 
despite  a  general  impression  to  the  contrary, 
Lord  Clarenceux  was  still  alive.  His  lord- 
ship's reasons  for  effacing  himself,  and  so 
completely  deceiving  his  friends  and  the 
world,  I  naturally  could  not  divine;  but  I 
knew  that  such  things  had  happened  before, 
and  also  I  gathered  that  he  was  a  man  who 
would  hesitate  at  no  caprice,  however  extrav- 
agant, once  it  had  suggested  itself  to  him  as 
expedient  for  the  satisfaction  of  his  singular 
nature. 

A  light  broke  in  upon  me:  Alresca  must 
have  been  aware  that  Lord  Clarenceux  was 
alive.  That  must  have  been  part  of  Alresca's 
secret,  but  only  part.  I  felt  somehow  that 
I  was  on  the  verge  of  some  tragical  discovery 
which  might  vitally  affect  not  only  my  own 
existence,  but  that  of  others. 

237 


238  THE    GHOST 

I  saw  Rosa  on  the  morning  after  my  inter- 
view with  Yvette.  She  was  in  perfect  health 
and  moderately  good  spirits,  and  she  invited 
me  to  dine  with  her  that  evening.  "  I  will  tell 
her  after  dinner/'  I  said  to  myself.  The  proj- 
ect of  telling  her  seemed  more  difficult  as  it 
approached.  She  said  that  she  had  arranged 
by  telephone  for  another  rehearsal  at  the 
Opera  Comique  at  three  o'clock,  but  she  did 
not  invite  me  to  accompany  her.  I  spent  the 
afternoon  at  the  Sorbonne,  where  I  had  some 
acquaintances,  and  after  calling  at  my  hotel, 
the  little  Hdtel  de  Portugal  in  the  Rue  Croix 
des  Petits  Champs,  to  dress,  I  drove  in  a  fiacre 
to  the  Rue  de  Rivoli.  I  had  carefully  con- 
sidered how  best  in  conversation  I  might  lead 
Rosa  to  the  subject  of  Lord  Clarenceux,  and 
had  arranged  a  little  plan.  Decidedly  I  did 
not  anticipate  the  interview  with  unmixed 
pleasure;  but,  as  I  have  said,  I  felt  bound  to 
inform  her  that  her  former  lover's  death  was 
a  fiction.  My  suit  might  be  doomed  thereby 
to  failure,  —  I  had  no  right  to  expect  other- 
wise,—  but  if  it  should  succeed  and  I  had 
kept  silence  on  this  point,  I  should  have 
played  the  part  of  a  —  well,  of  a  man  "  of 
three  letters." 


THE    VILLA  239 

"  Mademoiselle  is  not  at  home/'  said  the 
servant. 

"  Not  at  home !  But  I  am  dining  with  her, 
my  friend." 

"  Mademoiselle  has  been  called  away  sud- 
denly, and  she  has  left  a  note  for  monsieur. 
Will  monsieur  give  himself  the  trouble  to 
come  into  the  salon?  " 

The  note  ran  thus : 

"  Dear  Friend :  —  A  thousand  excuses ! 
But  the  enclosed  will  explain.  I  felt  that 
I  must  go  —  and  go  instantly.  She  might 
die  before  I  arrived.  Will  you  call  early 
to-morrow? 

"Your  grateful 
"  Rosa." 

And  this  was  the  enclosure,  written  in 
French: 

"  VILLA  DBS  HORTENSIAS, 
"RuE  TRIERS,  PANTIN,  PARIS. 

"  Mademoiselle :  —  I  am  dying.  I  have 
wronged  you  deeply,  and  I  dare  not  die  with- 
out your  forgiveness.  Prove  to  me  that  you 
have  a  great  heart  by  coming  to  my  bedside 


24o  THE    GHOST 

and  telling  me  that  you  accept  my  repentance. 
The  bearer  will  conduct  you. 

"  Carlotta  Deschamps." 

"  What  time  did  mademoiselle  leave  ?  "  I 
inquired. 

"  Less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,"  was 
the  reply. 

"Who  brought  the  note  to  her?" 

"  A  man,  monsieur.  Mademoiselle  accom- 
panied him  in  a  cab." 

With  a  velocity  which  must  have  startled 
the  grave  and  leisurely  servant,  I  precipitated 
myself  out  of  the  house  and  back  into  the 
fiacre,  which  happily  had  not  gone  away.  I 
told  the  cabman  to  drive  to  my  hotel  at  his 
best  speed. 

To  me  Deschamps'  letter  was  in  the  high- 
est degree  suspicious.  Rosa,  of  course,  with 
the  simplicity  of  a  heart  incapable  of  any  base- 
ness, had  accepted  it  in  perfect  faith.  But  I 
remembered  the  words  of  Yvette,  uttered  in 
all  solemnity :  "  She  is  dangerous ;  you  must 
take  care."  Further,  I  observed  that  the 
handwriting  of  this  strange  and  dramatic  mis- 
sive was  remarkably  firm  and  regular  for  a 
dying  woman,  and  that  the  composition 


THE    VILLA  241 

showed  a  certain  calculated  effectiveness.  I 
feared  a  lure.  Instinctively  I  knew  Des- 
champs  to  be  one  of  those  women  who,  driven 
by  the  goad  of  passionate  feeling,  will  pro- 
ceed to  any  length,  content  to  postpone  reflec- 
tion till  afterwards  —  when  the  irremediable 
has  happened. 

By  chance  I  was  slightly  acquainted  with 
the  remote  and  sinister  suburb  where  lay  the 
Villa  des  Hortensias.  I  knew  that  at  night 
it  possessed  a  peculiar  reputation,  and  my 
surmise  was  that  Rosa  had  been  decoyed 
thither  with  some  evil  intent. 

Arrived  at  my  hotel,  I  unearthed  my  revol- 
ver and  put  it  in  my  pocket.  Nothing  might 
occur;  on  the  other  hand,  everything  might 
occur,  and  it  was  only  prudent  to  be  prepared. 
Dwelling  on  this  thought,  I  also  took  the  little 
jewelled  dagger  which  Rosa  had  given  to  Sir 
Cyril  Smart  at  the  historic  reception  of  my 
Cousin  Sullivan's. 

In  the  hall  of  the  hotel  I  looked  at  the  plan 
of  Paris.  Certainly  Pantin  seemed  to  be  a 
very  long  way  off.  The  route  to  it  from  the 
centre  of  the  city  —  that  is  to  say,  the  Place 
de  TOpera  —  followed  the  Rue  Lafayette, 
which  is  the  longest  straight  thoroughfare  in 


242  THE    GHOST 

Paris,  and  then  the  Rue  d'Allemagne,  which 
is  a  continuation,  in  the  same  direct  line,  of 
the  Rue  Lafayette.  The  suburb  lay  without 
the  fortifications.  The  Rue  Thiers  —  every 
Parisian  suburb  has  its  Rue  Thiers  —  was 
about  half  a  mile  past  the  barrier,  on  the  right. 

I  asked  the  aged  woman  who  fulfils  the 
functions  of  hall-porter  at  the  Hotel  de  Por- 
tugal whether  a  cab  would  take  me  to  Pantin. 

"  Pantin,"  she  repeated,  as  she  might  have 
said  "  Timbuctoo."  And  she  called  the  pro- 
prietor. The  proprietor  also  said  "  Pantin  " 
as  he  might  have  said  "  Timbuctoo/'  and  ad- 
vised me  to  take  the  steam-tram  which  starts 
from  behind  the  Opera,  to  let  that  carry  me 
as  far  as  it  would,  and  then,  arrived  in  those 
distant  regions,  either  to  find  a  cab  or  to  walk 
the  remainder  of  the  distance. 

So,  armed,  I  issued  forth,  and  drove  to  the 
tram,  and  placed  myself  on  the  top  of  the 
tram.  And  the  tram,  after  much  tooting  of 
horns,  set  out. 

Through  kilometre  after  kilometre  of  gaslit 
clattering  monotony  that  immense  and  deaf- 
ening conveyance  took  me.  There  were  cafes 
everywhere,  thickly  strewn  on  both  sides  of 
the  way  —  at  first  large  and  lofty  and  richly 


THE    VILLA  243 

decorated,  with  vast  glazed  facades,  and 
manned  by  waiters  in  black  and  white,  then 
gradually  growing  smaller  and  less  busy. 
The  black  and  white  waiters  gave  place  to 
men  in  blouses,  and  men  in  blouses  gave  place 
to  women  and  girls  —  short,  fat  women  and 
girls  who  gossiped  among  themselves  and  to 
customers.  Once  we  passed  a  cafe  quite  de- 
serted save  for  the  waiter  and  the  waitress, 
who  sat,  head  on  arms,  side  by  side,  over  a 
table  asleep. 

Then  the  tram  stopped  finally,  having  cov- 
ered about  three  miles.  There  was  no  sign 
of  a  cab.  I  proceeded  on  foot.  The  shops 
got  smaller  and  dingier;  they  were  filled,  ap- 
parently, by  the  families  of  the  proprietors. 
At  length  I  crossed  over  a  canal  —  the  dread- 
ful quarter  of  La  Villette  —  and  here  the 
street  widened  out  to  an  immense  width,  and 
it  was  silent  and  forlorn  under  the  gas-lamps. 
I  hurried  under  railway  bridges,  and  I  saw 
in  the  distance  great  shunting-yards  looking 
grim  in  their  blue  hazes  of  electric  light. 
Then  came  the  city  barrier  and  the  octroi,  and 
still  the  street  stretched  in  front  of  me,  darker 
now,  more  mischievous,  more  obscure.  I  was 
in  Pantin. 


244  THE    GHOST 

At  last  I  descried  the  white  and  blue  sign  of 
the  Rue  Thiers.  I  stood  alone  in  the  shadow 
of  high,  forbidding  houses.  All  seemed 
strange  and  fearsome.  Certainly  this  might 
still  be  called  Paris,  but  it  was  not  the  Paris 
known  to  Englishmen;  it  was  the  Paris  of 
Zola,  and  Zola  in  a  Balzacian  mood. 

I  turned  into  the  Rue  Thiers,  and  at  once 
the  high,  forbidding  houses  ceased,  and  small 
detached  villas  —  such  as  are  to  be  found  in 
thousands  round  the  shabby  skirts  of  Paris  — 
took  their  place.  The  Villa  des  Hortensias, 
clearly  labelled,  was  nearly  at  the  far  end  of 
the  funereal  street.  It  was  rather  larger  than 
its  fellows,  and  comprised  three  stories,  with 
a  small  garden  in  front  and  a  vast  grille  with 
a  big  bell,  such  as  Parisians  love  when  they 
have  passed  the  confines  of  the  city,  and  have 
dispensed  with  the  security  of  a  concierge. 
The  grille  was  ajar.  I  entered  the  garden, 
having  made  sure  that  the  bell  would  not 
sound.  The  facade  of  the  house  showed  no 
light  whatever.  A  double  stone  stairway  of 
four  steps  led  to  the  front  door.  I  went  up 
the  steps,  and  was  about  to  knock,  when  the 
idea  flashed  across  my  mind :  "  Suppose  that 
Deschamps  is  really  dying,  how  am  I  to  ex- 


THE    VILLA  245 

plain  my  presence  here?  I  am  not  the  guar- 
dian of  Rosa,  and  she  may  resent  being 
tracked  across  Paris  by  a  young  man  with  no 
claim  to  watch  her  actions." 

Nevertheless,  in  an  expedition  of  this  nature 
one  must  accept  risks,  and  therefore  I  knocked 
gently.  There  was  no  reply  to  the  sum- 
mons, and  I  was  cogitating  upon  my  next 
move  when,  happening  to  press  against  the 
door  with  my  hand,  I  discovered  that  it  was 
not  latched.  Without  weighing  consequences, 
I  quietly  opened  it,  and  with  infinite  caution 
stepped  into  the  hall,  and  pushed  the  door  to. 
I  did  not  latch  it,  lest  I  might  need  to  make 
a  sudden  exit  —  unfamiliar  knobs  and  springs 
are  apt  to  be  troublesome  when  one  is  in  a 
hurry. 

I  was  now  fairly  in  the  house,  but  the  dark- 
ness was  blacker  than  the  pit,  and  I  did  not 
care  to  strike  a  match.  I  felt  my  way  along 
by  the  wall  till  I  came  to  a  door  on  the  left; 
it  was  locked.  A  little  further  was  another 
door,  also  locked.  I  listened  intently,  for  I 
fancied  I  could  hear  a  faint  murmur  of  voices, 
but  I  was  not  sure.  Then  I  startled  myself  by 
stepping  on  nothing  —  I  was  at  the  head  of 
a  flight  of  stone  steps;  down  below  I  could 


246  THE    GHOST 

distinguish  an  almost  imperceptible  glimmer 
of  light. 

"  I'm  in  for  it.  Here  goes !  "  I  reflected,  and 
I  crept  down  the  steps  one  by  one,  and  in  due 
course  reached  the  bottom.  To  the  left  was 
a  doorway,  through  which  came  the  glimmer 
of  light.  Passing  through  the  doorway,  I 
came  into  a  room  with  a  stone  floor.  The 
light,  which  was  no  stronger  than  the  very 
earliest  intimation  of  a  winter's  dawn,  seemed 
to  issue  in  a  most  unusual  way  from  the  far 
corner  of  this  apartment  near  the  ceiling.  I 
directed  my  course  towards  it,  and  in  the 
transit  made  violent  contact  with  some  metal- 
lic object,  which  proved  to  be  an  upright  iron 
shaft,  perhaps  three  inches  in  diameter,  run- 
ning from  floor  to  ceiling. 

"Surely,"  I  thought,  "this  is  the  queerest 
room  I  was  ever  in." 

Circumnavigating  the  pillar,  I  reached  the 
desired  corner,  and  stood  under  the  feeble 
source  of  light.  I  could  see  now  that  in  this 
corner  the  ceiling  was  higher  than  elsewhere, 
and  that  the  light  shone  dimly  from  a  perpen- 
dicular pane  of  glass  which  joined  the  two 
levels  of  the  ceiling.  I  also  saw  that  there  was 
a  ledge  about  two  feet  from  the  floor,  upon 


THE   VILLA  247 

which  a  man  would  stand  in  order  to  look 
through  the  pane. 

I  climbed  on  to  the  ledge,  and  I  looked.  To 
my  astonishment,  I  had  a  full  view  of  a  large 
apartment,  my  head  being  even  with  the  floor 
of  that  apartment.  Lying  on  a  couch  was  a 
woman  —  the  woman  who  had  accosted  me  on 
Dover  Pier  —  Carlotta  Deschamps,  in  fact. 
By  her  side,  facing  her  in  a  chair,  was  Rosetta 
Rosa.  I  could  hear  nothing,  but  by  the  move- 
ment of  their  lips  I  knew  that  these  two  were 
talking.  Rosa's  face  was  full  of  pity;  as  for 
Deschamps,  her  coarse  features  were  inscruta- 
ble. She  had  a  certain  pallor,  but  it  was  im- 
possible to  judge  whether  she  was  ill  or 
well. 

I  had  scarcely  begun  to  observe  the  two 
women  when  I  caught  the  sound  of  footsteps 
on  the  stone  stair.  The  footsteps  approached; 
they  entered  the  room  where  I  was.  I  made 
no  sound.  Without  any  hesitation  the  foot- 
steps arrived  at  my  corner,  and  a  pair  of 
hands  touched  my  legs.  Then  I  knew  it  was 
time  to  act.  Jumping  down  from  the  ledge, 
I  clasped  the  intruder  by  the  head,  and  we 
rolled  over  together,  struggling.  But  he  was 
a  short  man,  apparently  stiff  in  the  limbs,  and 


248  THE    GHOST 

in  ten  seconds  or  thereabouts  I  had  him  flat 
on  his  back,  and  my  hand  at  his  throat. 

"  Don't  move,"  I  advised  him. 

In  that  faint  light  I  could  not  see  him,  so  I 
struck  a  match,  and  held  it  over  the  man's 
face.  We  gazed  at  each  other,  breathing 
heavily. 

"  Good  God !  "  the  man  exclaimed. 

It  was  Sir  Cyril  Smart. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  SHEATH  OF  THE  DAGGER 

That  was  one  of  those  supremely  trying 
moments  which  occur,  I  suppose,  once  or 
twice  in  the  lives  of  most  men,  when  events 
demand  to  be  fully  explained  while  time  will 
on  no  account  permit  of  the  explanation.  I 
felt  that  I  must  know  at  once  the  reason  and 
purpose  of  Sir  Cyril's  presence  with  me  in  the 
underground  chamber,  and  that  I  could  do 
nothing  further  until  I  had  such  knowledge. 
And  yet  I  also  felt  that  explanations  must  in- 
evitably wait  until  the  scene  enacting  above 
us  was  over.  I  stood  for  a  second  silent,  ir- 
resolute. The  match  went  out. 

"Are  you  here  to  protect  her?"  whispered 
Sir  Cyril. 

"  Yes,  if  she  is  in  danger.  I  will  tell  you 
afterwards  about  things.  And  you?" 

"  I  was  passing  through  Paris,  and  I  heard 
that  Deschamps  was  threatening  Rosa. 

249 


250  THE    GHOST 

Every  one  is  talking  of  it,  and  I  heard  of  the 
scene  at  the  rehearsal,  and  I  began  to  guess. 
...  I  know  Deschamps  well.  I  was  afraid 
for  Rosa.  Then  this  morning  I  met  Yvette, 
Rosa's  maid  —  she's  an  old  acquaintance  of 
mine  —  and  she  told  me  everything.  I  have 
many  friends  in  Paris,  and  I  learnt  to-night 
that  Deschamps  had  sent  for  Rosa.  So  I  have 
come  up  to  interfere.  They  are  up-stairs,  are 
they  not?  Let  us  watch." 

"  You  know  the  house,  then?  " 

"  I  have  been  here  before,  to  one  of  Des- 
champs' celebrated  suppers.  She  showed  me 
all  over  it  then.  It  is  one  of  the  strangest 
houses  round  about  Paris  —  and  that's  say- 
ing something.  The  inside  was  rebuilt  by  a 
Russian  count  who  wanted  to  do  the  Louis 
Quinze  revelry  business  over  again.  He  died, 
and  Deschamps  bought  the  place.  She  often 
stays  here  quite  alone." 

I  was  putting  all  the  questions.  Sir  Cyril 
seemed  not  to  be  very  curious  concerning  the 
origin  of  my  presence. 

"What  is  Rosa  to  you?"  I  queried  with 
emphasis. 

"  What  is  she  to  you?  "  he  returned  quickly. 

"  To  me  she  is  everything,"  I  said. 


THE  SHEATH  OF  THE  DAGGER  251 

"  And  to  me,  my  young  friend !  " 

I  could  not,  of  course,  see  Sir  Cyril's  face, 
but  the  tone  of  his  reply  impressed  and  si- 
lenced me.  I  was  mystified  —  and  yet  I  felt 
glad  that  he  was  there.  Both  of  us  forgot  to 
be  surprised  at  the  peculiarity  of  the  scene. 
It  appeared  quite  natural  that  he  should  have 
supervened  so  dramatically  at  precisely  the 
correct  moment,  and  I  asked  him  for  no  more 
information.  He  evidently  did  know  the 
place,  for  he  crept  immediately  to  the  ledge, 
and  looked  into  the  room  above.  I  followed^ 
and  stood  by  his  side.  The  two  women  were 
still  talking. 

"  Can't  we  get  into  the  room,  or  do  some- 
thing?" I  murmured. 

"  Not  yet.  How  do  we  know  that  Des- 
champs  means  harm?  Let  us  wait.  Have 
you  a  weapon  ?  " 

Sir  Cyril  spoke  as  one  in  command,  and  I 
accepted  the  assumption  of  authority. 

"  Yes,"  I  said ;  "  I've  got  a  revolver,  and  a 
little  dagger." 

'Who  knows  what  may  happen?  Give  me 
one  of  them  —  give  me  the  dagger,  if  you 
like." 

I  passed  it  to  him  in  the  darkness.     As- 


252  THE    GHOST 

tounding  as  it  may  seem,  I  am  prepared  sol- 
emnly to  assert  that  at  that  moment  I  had 
forgotten  the  history  of  the  dagger,  and  Sir 
Cyril's  connection  with  it. 

I  was  just  going  to  ask  of  what  use  weapons 
could  be,  situated  as  we  were,  when  I  saw 
Deschamps  with  a  sudden  movement  jump  up 
from  her  bed,  her  eyes  blazing.  With  an  in- 
voluntary cry  in  my  throat  I  hammered  the 
glass  in  front  of  us  with  the  butt  of  my  revol- 
ver, but  it  was  at  least  an  inch  thick,  and  did 
not  even  splinter.  Sir  Cyril  sprang  from  the 
ledge  instantly.  Meanwhile  Rosa,  the  change 
of  whose  features  showed  that  she  divined  the 
shameful  trick  played  upon  her,  stood  up,  half- 
indignant,  half-terrified.  Deschamps  was  no 
more  dying  than  I  was;  her  eyes  burned  with 
the  lust  of  homicide,  and  with  uplifted  twitch- 
ing hands  she  advanced  like  a  tiger,  and  Rosa 
retreated  before  her  to  the  middle  of  the  room. 

Then  there  was  the  click  of  a  spring,  and  a 
square  of  the  centre  of  the  floor,  with  Rosa 
standing  upon  it,  swiftly  descended  into  the 
room  where  we  were.  The  thing  was  as 
startling  as  a  stage  illusion;  yes,  a  thousand- 
fold more  startling  than  any  trick  I  ever  saw. 
I  may  state  here,  what  I  learnt  afterwards, 


THE  SHEATH  OF  THE  DAGGER  253 

that  the  room  above  was  originally  a  dining- 
room,  and  the  arrangement  of  the  trap  had 
been  designed  to  cause  a  table  to  disappear 
and  reappear  as  tables  were  wont  to  do  at  the 
notorious  banquets  of  King  Louis  in  the  Petit 
Trianon.  The  glass  observatory  enabled  the 
kitchen  attendants  to  watch  the  progress  of 
the  meals.  Sir  Cyril  knew  of  the  contrivance, 
and,  rushing  to  the  upright  pillar,  had  worked 
it  most  opportunely. 

The  kitchen,  as  I  may  now  call  it,  was 
illuminated  with  light  from  the  room  above. 
I  hastened  to  Rosa,  who  on  seeing  Sir  Cyril 
and  myself  gave  a  little  cry,  and  fell  forward 
fainting.  She  was  a  brave  girl,  but  one  may 
have  too  many  astonishments.  I  caught  her, 
and  laid  her  gently  on  the  floor.  Meanwhile 
Deschamps  (the  dying  Deschamps!)  stood  on 
the  edge  of  the  upper  floor,  stamping  and 
shouting  in  a  high  fever  of  foiled  revenge. 
She  was  mad.  When  I  say  that  she  was  mad, 
I  mean  that  she  was  merely  and  simply  in- 
sane. I  could  perceive  it  instantly,  and  I  fore- 
saw that  we  should  have  trouble  with  her. 

Without  the  slightest  warning,  she  jumped 
down  into  the  midst  of  us.  The  distance  was 
a  good  ten  feet,  but  with  a  lunatic's  luck  she 


254  THE    GHOST 

did  not  hurt  herself.  She  faced  Sir  Cyril, 
shaking  in  every  limb  with  passion,  and  he, 
calm,  determined,  unhurried,  raised  his  dag- 
ger to  defend  himself  against  this  terrible 
lioness  should  the  need  arise. 

But  as  he  lifted  the  weapon  his  eye  fell  on 
it;  he  saw  what  it  was;  he  had  not  observed 
it  before,  since  we  had  been  in  darkness.  And 
as  he  looked  his  composure  seemed  to  desert 
him.  He  paled,  and  his  hand  trembled  and 
hung  loosely.  The  mad  woman,  seizing  her 
chance,  snatched  the  dagger  from  him,  and 
like  a  flash  of  lightning  drove  it  into  his  left 
breast.  Sir  Cyril  sank  down,  the  dagger 
sticking  out  from  his  light  overcoat. 

The  deed  was  over  before  I  could  move.  I 
sprang  forward.  Deschamps  laughed,  and 
turned  to  me.  I  closed  with  her.  She 
scratched  and  bit,  and  she  was  by  no  means 
a  weak  woman.  At  first  I  feared  that  in  her 
fury  she  would  overpower  me.  At  length, 
however,  I  managed  to  master  her;  but  her 
strength  was  far  from  exhausted,  and  she 
would  not  yield.  She  was  mad;  time  was 
passing.  I  could  not  afford  to  be  nice  in  my 
methods,  so  I  contrived  to  stun  her,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  tie  her  hands  with  my  handkerchief. 


THE  SHEATH  OF  THE  DAGGER  255 
Then,  panting,  I  stood  up  to  survey  the 
floor. 

I  may  be  forgiven,  perhaps,  if  at  that  fright- 
ful crisis  I  was  not  perfectly  cool,  and  could 
not  decide  on  the  instant  upon  the  wisest 
course  of  action  to  pursue.  Sir  Cyril  was  in- 
sensible, and  a  little  circle  of  blood  was  form- 
ing round  the  dagger;  Deschamps  was  insen- 
sible, with  a  dark  bruise  on  her  forehead, 
inflicted  during  our  struggle;  Rosa  was  in- 
sensible —  I  presumed  from  excess  of  emotion 
at  the  sudden  fright. 

I  gazed  at  the  three  prone  forms,  pondering 
over  my  handiwork  and  that  of  Chance.  What 
should  be  the  next  step?  Save  for  my  own 
breathing,  there  was  a  deathlike  silence.  The 
light  from  the  empty  room  above  rained  down 
upon  us  through  the  trap,  illuminating  the 
still  faces  with  its  yellow  glare.  Was  any 
other  person  in  the  house?  From  what  Sir 
Cyril  had  said,  and  from  my  own  surmises, 
I  thought  not.  Whatever  people  Deschamps 
might  have  employed  to  carry  messages,  she 
had  doubtless  dismissed  them.  She  and  Rosa 
had  been  alone  in  the  building.  I  can  under- 
stand now  that  there  was  something  pecul- 
iarly attractive  to  the  diseased  imagination  of 


256  THE   GHOST 

Deschamps  in  the  prospect  of  inviting  her 
victim  to  the  snare,  and  working  vengeance 
upon  a  rival  unaided,  unseen,  solitary  in  that 
echoing  and  deserted  mansion.  I  was  horribly 
perplexed.  It  struck  me  that  I  ought  to  be 
gloomily  sorrowful,  but  I  was  not.  At  the 
bottom  of  my  soul  I  felt  happy,  for  Rosa  was 
saved. 

It  was  Rosa  who  first  recovered  conscious- 
ness, and  her  movement  in  sitting  up  recalled 
me  to  my  duty.  I  ran  to  Sir  Cyril,  and,  kneel- 
ing down  so  as  to  screen  his  body  from  her 
sight,  I  drew  the  dagger  from  its  sheath,  and 
began  hastily,  with  such  implements  as  I 
could  contrive  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  to 
attend  to  his  wound. 

"What  has  happened?"  Rosa  inquired  fee- 
bly. 

I  considered  my  reply,  and  then,  without 
turning  towards  her,  I  spoke  in  a  slow,  mat- 
ter-of-fact voice. 

"  Listen  carefully  to  what  I  say.  There  has 
been  a  plot  to  —  to  do  you  injury.  But  you 
are  not  hurt.  You  are,  in  fact,  quite  well  — 
don't  imagine  anything  else.  Sir  Cyril  Smart 
is  here;  he's  hurt;  Deschamps  has  wounded 
him.  Deschamps  is  harmless  for  the  moment, 


THE  SHEATH  OF  THE  DAGGER  257 

but  she  may  recover  and  break  out  again. 
So  I  can't  leave  to  get  help.  You  must  go. 
You  have  fainted,  but  I  am  sure  you  can  walk 
quite  well.  Go  up  the  stairs  here,  and  walk 
along  the  hall  till  you  come  to  the  front  door; 
it  is  not  fastened.  Go  out  into  the  street,  and 
bring  back  two  gendarmes  —  two,  mind  — 
and  a  cab,  if  you  can.  Do  you  understand?  " 

"Yes,  but  how  —  " 

"  Now,  please  go  at  once !  "  I  insisted  grimly 
and  coldly.  "  We  can  talk  afterwards.  Just 
do  as  you're  told." 

Cowed  by  the  roughness  of  my  tone,  she 
rose  and  went.  I  heard  her  light,  hesitating 
step  pass  through  the  hall,  and  so  out  of  the 
house. 

In  a  few  minutes  I  had  done  all  that  could 
be  done  for  Sir  Cyril,  as  he  lay  there.  The 
wound  was  deep,  having  regard  to  the  small 
size  of  the  dagger,  and  I  could  only  partially 
stop  the  extravasation  of  blood,  which  was 
profuse.  I  doubted  if  he  would  recover.  It 
was  not  long,  however,  before  he  regained  his 
senses.  He  spoke,  and  I  remember  vividly 
now  how  pathetic  to  me  was  the  wagging  of 
his  short  gray  beard  as  his  jaw  moved. 


258  THE    GHOST 

"  Foster,"  he  said  —  "  your  name  is  Foster, 
isn't  it?  Where  did  you  find  that  dagger?" 

"  You  must  keep  quiet,"  I  said.  "  I  have 
sent  for  assistance." 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  man.  You  know  I'm  done 
for.  Tell  me  how  you  got  the  dagger." 

So  I  told  him. 

"Ah!"  he  murmured.  It's  my  luck!"  he 
sighed.  Then  in  little  detached  sentences, 
with  many  pauses,  he  began  to  relate  a  history 
of  what  happened  after  Rosa  and  I  had  left 
him  on  the  night  of  Sullivan's  reception. 
Much  of  it  was  incomprehensible  to  me;  some- 
times I  could  not  make  out  the  words.  But 
it  seemed  that  he  had  followed  us  in  his  car- 
riage, had  somehow  met  Rosa  again,  and  then, 
in  a  sudden  frenzy  of  remorse,  had  attempted 
to  kill  himself  with  the  dagger  in  the  street. 
His  reason  for  this  I  did  not  gather.  His 
coachman  and  footman  had  taken  him  home, 
and  the  affair  had  been  kept  quiet. 

Remorse  for  what?  I  burned  to  ask  a  hun- 
dred questions,  but,  fearing  to  excite  him,  I 
shut  my  lips. 

'  You  are  in  love  with  her?  "  he  asked. 

I  nodded.  It  was  a  reply  as  abrupt  as  his 
demand.  At  that  moment  Deschamps  laughed 


THE  SHEATH  OF  THE  DAGGER  259 

quietly  behind  me.  I  turned  round  quickly, 
but  she  lay  still;  though  she  had  come  to,  the 
fire  in  her  eyes  was  quenched,  and  I  antici- 
pated no  immediate  difficulty  with  her. 

"  I  knew  that  night  that  you  were  in  love 
with  her/'  Sir  Cyril  continued.  "  Has  she  told 
you  about  —  about  me?" 

"  No,"  I  said. 

"  I  have  done  her  a  wrong,  Foster  —  her 
and  another.  But  she  will  tell  you.  I  can't 
talk  now.  I'm  going  —  going.  Tell  her  that 
I  died  in  trying  to  protect  her;  say  that  — 
Foster  —  say  —  "  He  relapsed  into  uncon- 
sciousness. 

I  heard  firm,  rapid  steps  in  the  hall,  and  in 
another  instant  the  representatives  of  French 
law  had  taken  charge  of  the  house.  Rosa  fol- 
lowed them  in.  She  looked  wistfully  at  Sir 
Cyril,  and  then,  flinging  herself  down  by  his 
side,  burst  into  wild  tears. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE   THING    IN  THE    CHAIR 

On  the  following  night  I  sat  once  more  in 
the  salon  of  Rosa's  flat.  She  had  had  Sir 
Cyril  removed  thither.  He  was  dying;  I  had 
done  my  best,  but  his  case  was  quite  hopeless, 
and  at  Rosa's  urgent  entreaty  I  had  at  last 
left  her  alone  by  his  bedside. 

I  need  not  recount  all  the  rush  of  incidents 
that  had  happened  since  the  tragedy  at  the 
Villa  des  Hortensias  on  the  previous  evening. 
Most  people  will  remember  the  tremendous 
sensation  caused  by  the  judicial  inquiry  —  an 
inquiry  which  ended  in  the  tragical  Deschamps 
being  incarcerated  in  the  Charenton  Asylum. 
For  aught  I  know,  the  poor  woman,  once  one 
of  the  foremost  figures  in  the  gaudy  world  of 
theatrical  Paris,  is  still  there  consuming  her 
heart  with  a  futile  hate. 

Rosa  would  never  refer  in  any  way  to  the 
interview  between  Deschamps  and  herself;  it 

260 


THE   THING  IN   THE   CHAIR    261 

was  as  if  she  had  hidden  the  memory  of  it  in 
some  secret  chamber  of  her  soul,  which  noth- 
ing could  induce  her  to  open  again.  But  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  Deschamps  had  intended 
to  murder  her,  and,  indeed,  would  have  mur- 
dered her  had  it  not  been  for  the  marvellously 
opportune  arrival  of  Sir  Cyril.  With  the  door 
of  the  room  locked  as  it  was,  I  should  assur- 
edly have  been  condemned,  lacking  Sir  Cyril's 
special  knowledge  of  the  house,  to  the  anguish 
of  witnessing  a  frightful  crime  without  being* 
able  to  succor  the  victim.  To  this  day  I  can 
scarcely  think  of  that  possibility  and  remain 
calm. 

As  for  Sir  Cyril's  dramatic  appearance  in 
the  villa,  when  I  had  learnt  all  the  facts,  that 
was  perhaps  less  extraordinary  than  it  had 
seemed  to  me  from  our  hasty  dialogue  in  the 
underground  kitchen  of  Deschamps'  house. 
Although  neither  Rosa  nor  I  was  aware  of 
it,  operatic  circles  had  been  full  of  gossip  con- 
cerning Deschamps'  anger  and  jealousy,  of 
which  she  made  no  secret.  One  or  two  artists 
of  the  Opera  Comique  had  decided  to  inter- 
fere, or  at  any  rate  seriously  to  warn  Rosa, 
when  Sir  Cyril  arrived,  on  his  way  to  London 
from  the  German  watering-place  where  he  had 


262  THE    GHOST 

been  staying.  All  Paris  knew  Sir  Cyril,  and 
Sir  Cyril  knew  all  Paris;  he  was  made  ac- 
quainted with  the  facts  directly,  and  the  mat- 
ter was  left  to  him.  A  man  of  singular  reso- 
lution, originality,  and  courage,  he  had  gone 
straight  to  the  Rue  Thiers,  having  caught  a 
rumor,  doubtless  started  by  the  indiscreet 
Deschamps  herself,  that  Rosa  would  be  de- 
coyed there.  The  rest  was  mere  good  fortune. 

In  regard  to  the  mysterious  connection  be- 
tween Sir  Cyril  and  Rosa,  I  had  at  present  no 
clue  to  it;  nor  had  there  been  much  oppor- 
tunity for  conversation  between  Rosa  and 
myself.  We  had  not  even  spoken  to  each 
other  alone,  and,  moreover,  I  was  uncertain 
whether  she  would  care  to  enlighten  me  on 
that  particular  matter;  assuredly  I  had  no 
right  to  ask  her  to  do  so.  Further,  I  was  far 
more  interested  in  another,  and  to  me  vastly 
more  important,  question,  the  question  of 
Lord  Clarenceux  and  his  supposed  death. 

I  was  gloomily  meditating  upon  the  tangle 
of  events,  when  the  door  of  the  salon  opened, 
and  Rosa  entered.  She  walked  stiffly  to  a 
chair,  and,  sitting  down  opposite  to  me,  looked 
into  my  face  with  hard,  glittering  eyes.  For 
a  few  moments  she  did  not  speak,  and  I  could 


THE   THING  IN   THE   CHAIR    263 

not  break  the  silence.  Then  I  saw  the  tears 
slowly  welling  up,  and  I  was  glad  for  that. 
She  was  intensely  moved,  and  less  agonizing 
experiences  than  she  had  gone  through  might 
easily  have  led  to  brain  fever  in  a  woman  of 
her  highly  emotional  temperament. 

"Why  don't  you  leave  me,  Mr.  Foster?" 
she  cried  passionately,  and  there  were  sobs  in 
her  voice.  "  Why  don't  you  leave  me,  and 
never  see  me  again?" 

"  Leave  you?  "  I  said  softly.     "  Why?  " 

"  Because  I  am  cursed.  Throughout  my 
life  I  have  been  cursed;  and  the  curse  clings, 
and  it  falls  on  those  who  come  near  me." 

She  gave  way  to  hysterical  tears;  her  head 
bent  till  it  was  almost  on  her  knees.  I  went 
to  her,  and  gently  raised  it,  and  put  a  cushion 
at  the  back  of  the  chair.  She  grew  calmer. 

"  If  you  are  cursed,  I  will  be  cursed,"  I  said, 
gazing  straight  at  her,  and  then  I  sat  down 
again. 

The  sobbing  gradually  ceased.  She  dried 
her  eyes. 

"  He  is  dead,"  she  said  shortly. 

I  made  no  response;  I  had  none  to  make. 
'  You  do  not  say  anything,"  she  murmured. 

"  I  am  sorry.    Sir  Cyril  was  the  right  sort." 


264  THE    GHOST 

"  He  was  my  father,"  she  said. 

"  Your  father !  "  I  repeated.  No  revelation 
could  have  more  profoundly  astonished  me. 

"  Yes,"  she  firmly  repeated. 

We  both  paused. 

"  I  thought  you  had  lost  both  parents,"  I 
said  at  length,  rather  lamely. 

"Till  lately  I  thought  so  too.  Listen.  I 
will  tell  you  the  tale  of  all  my  life.  Not  until 
to-night  have  I  been  able  to  put  it  together, 
and  fill  in  the  blanks." 

And  this  is  what  she  told  me: 

"  My  father  was  travelling  through  Europe. 
He  had  money,  and  of  course  he  met  with 
adventures.  One  of  his  adventures  was  my 
mother.  She  lived  among  the  vines  near 
Avignon,  in  Southern  France;  her  uncle  was 
a  small  grape-grower.  She  belonged  abso- 
lutely to  the  people,  but  she  was  extremely 
beautiful.  I'm  not  exaggerating;  she  was. 
She  was  one  of  those  women  that  believe 
everything,  and  my  father  fell  in  love  with 
her.  He  married  her  properly  at  Avignon. 
They  travelled  together  through  France  and 
Italy,  and  then  to  Belgium.  Then,  in  some- 
thing less  than  a  year,  I  was  born.  She  gave 
herself  up  to  me  entirely.  She  was  not  clever; 


THE  THING  IN   THE   CHAIR    265 

she  had  no  social  talents  and  no  ambitions. 
No,  she  certainly  had  not  much  brain;  but 
to  balance  that  she  had  a  heart  —  so  large 
that  it  completely  enveloped  my  father  and 
me. 

"  After  three  years  he  had  had  enough  of 
my  mother.  He  got  restive.  He  was  ambi- 
tious. He  wanted  to  shine  in  London,  where 
he  was  known,  and  where  his  family  had  made 
traditions  in  the  theatrical  world.  But  he  felt 
that  my  mother  wouldn't  —  wouldn't  be  suit- 
able for  London.  Fancy  the  absurdity  of  a 
man  trying  to  make  a  name  in  London  when 
hampered  by  a  wife  who  was  practically  of 
the  peasant  class !  He  simply  left  her.  Oh,  it 
was  no  common  case  of  desertion.  He  used 
his  influence  over  my  mother  to  make  her 
consent.  She  did  consent.  It  broke  her  heart, 
but  hers  was  the  sort  of  love  that  suffers,  so 
she  let  him  go.  He  arranged  to  allow  her  a 
reasonable  income. 

"  I  can  just  remember  a  man  who  must  have 
been  my  father.  I  was  three  years  old  when 
he  left  us.  Till  then  we  had  lived  in  a  large 
'house  in  an  old  city.  Can't  you  guess  what 
house  that  was?  Of  course  you  can.  Yes, 
it  was  the  house  at  Bruges  where  Alresca 


266  THE    GHOST 

died.  We  gave  up  that  house,  my  mother  and 
I,  and  went  to  live  in  Italy.  Then  my  father 
sold  the  house  to  Alresca.  I  only  knew  that 
to-day.  You  may  guess  my  childish  recollec- 
tions of  Bruges  aren't  very  distinct.  It  was 
part  of  the  understanding  that  my  mother 
should  change  her  name,  and  at  Pisa  she  was 
known  as  Madame  Montigny.  That  was  the 
only  surname  of  hers  that  I  ever  knew. 

"  As  I  grew  older,  my  mother  told  me  fairy- 
tales to  account  for  the  absence  of  my  father. 
She  died  when  I  was  sixteen,  and  before  she 
died  she  told  me  the  truth.  She  begged  me 
to  promise  to  go  to  him,  and  said  that  I  should 
be  happy  with  him.  But  I  would  not  promise. 
I  was  sixteen  then,  and  very  proud.  What  my 
mother  had  told  me  made  me  hate  and  despise 
my  father.  I  left  my  dead  mother's  side  hat- 
ing him;  I  had  a  loathing  for  him  which 
words  couldn't  express.  She  had  omitted  to 
tell  me  his  real  name;  I  never  asked  her,  and 
I  was  glad  ,not  to  know  it.  In  speaking  of 
him,  of  course  she  always  said  '  your  father,' 
'  your  father/  and  she  died  before  she  got 
quite  to  the  end  of  her  story.  I  buried  my 
mother,  and  then  I  was  determined  to  disap- 
pear. My  father  might  search,  but  he  should 


THE  THING  IN   THE   CHAIR    267 

never  find  me.  The  thought  that  he  would 
search  and  search,  and  be  unhappy  for  the 
rest  of  his  life  because  he  couldn't  find  me, 
gave  me  a  kind  of  joy.  So  I  left  Pisa,  and 
I  took  with  me  nothing  but  the  few  hundred 
lire  which  my  mother  had  by  her,  and  the 
toy  dagger  —  my  father's  gift  —  which  she 
had  always  worn  in  her  hair. 

"  I  knew  that  I  had  a  voice.  Every  one  said 
that,  and  my  mother  had  had  it  trained  up 
to  a  certain  point.  I  knew  that  I  could  make 
a  reputation.  I  adopted  the  name  of  Rosetta 
Rosa,  and  I  set  to  work.  Others  have  suf- 
fered worse  things  than  I  suffered.  I  made 
my  way.  Sir  Cyril  Smart,  the  great  English 
impresario,  heard  me  at  Genoa,  and  offered 
me  an  engagement  in  London.  Then  my  for- 
tune was  made.  You  know  that  story  — 
every  one  knows  it. 

"  Why  did  I  not  guess  at  once  that  he  was 
my  father?  I  cannot  tell.  And  not  having 
guessed  it  at  once,  why  should  I  ever  have 
guessed  it?  I  cannot  tell.  The  suspicion  stole 
over  me  gradually.  Let  me  say  that  I  always 
was  conscious  of  a  peculiar  feeling  towards 
Sir  Cyril  Smart,  partly  antagonistic,  yet  not 
wholly  so  —  a  feeling  I  could  never  under- 


268  THE    GHOST 

stand.  Then  suddenly  I  knew,  beyond  any 
shadow  of  doubt,  that  Sir  Cyril  was  my  father, 
and  in  the  same  moment  he  knew  that  I  was 
his  daughter.  You  were  there;  you  saw  us 
in  the  portico  of  the  reception-rooms  at  that 
London  hotel.  I  caught  him  staring  at  the 
dagger  in  my  hair  just  as  if  he  was  staring 
at  a  snake  —  I  had  not  worn  it  for  some  time 
—  and  the  knowledge  of  his  identity  swept 
over  me  like  a  —  like  a  big  wave.  I  hated  him 
more  than  ever. 

"  That  night,  it  seems,  fye  followed  us  in  his 
carriage  to  Alresca's  flat.  When  I  came  out 
of  the  flat  he  was  waiting.  He  spoke.  I  won't 
tell  you  what  he  said,  and  I  won't  tell  you 
what  I  said.  But  I  was  very  curt  and  very 
cruel."  Her  voice  trembled.  "  I  got  into  my 
carriage.  My  God!  how  cruel  I  was!  To- 
night he  —  my  father  —  has  told  me  that  he 
tried  to  kill  himself  with  my  mother's  dagger, 
there  on  the  pavement.  I  had  driven  him  to 
suicide." 

She  stopped.  "Do  you  blame  me?"  she 
murmured. 

"  I  do  not  blame  you,"  I  said.  "  But  he  is 
dead,  and  death  ends  all  things." 

"  You  are  right,"  she  said.    "  And  he  loved 


THE  THING  IN  THE   CHAIR    269 

me  at  the  last.  I  know  that.  And  he  saved 
my  life  —  you  and  he.  He  has  atoned  — 
atoned  for  his  conduct  to  my  poor  mother. 
He  died  with  my  kiss  on  his  lips." 

And  now  the  tears  came  into  my  eyes. 

"  Ah ! "  she  exclaimed,  and  the  pathos  of 
her  ringing  tones  was  intolerable  to  me. 
"  You  may  well  weep  for  me."  Then  with 
abrupt  change  she  laughed.  "  Don't  you 
agree  that  I  am  cursed?  Am  I  not  cursed? 
Say  it!  say  it!" 

"I  will  not  say  it,"  I  answered.  "Why 
should  you  be  cursed?  What  do  you 
mean?" 

"  I  do  not  know  what  I  mean,  but  I  know 
what  I  feel.  Look  back  at  my  life.  My 
mother  died,  deserted.  My  father  has  died, 
killed  by  a  mad  woman.  My  dear  friend  Al- 
resca  died  —  who  knows  how?  Clarenceux 
—  he  too  died." 

"  Stay ! "  I  almost  shouted,  springing  up, 
and  the  suddenness  of  my  excitement  intimi- 
dated her.  "  How  do  you  know  that  Lord 
Clarenceux  is  dead?  " 

I  stood  before  her,  trembling  with  appre- 
hension for  the  effect  of  the  disclosure  I  was 
about  to  make.  She  was  puzzled  and  alarmed 


270  THE    GHOST 

by  the  violent  change  in  me,  but   she  con- 
trolled herself. 

"How  do  I  know?"  she  repeated  with 
strange  mildness. 

'  Yes,  how  do  you  know?  Did  you  see  him 
die?" 

I  had  a  wild  desire  to  glance  over  my  shoul- 
der at  the  portrait. 

"  No,  my  friend.  But  I  saw  him  after  he 
was  dead.  He  died  suddenly  in  Vienna. 
Don't  let  us  talk  about  that." 

"  Aha !  "  I  laughed  incredulously,  and  then, 
swiftly  driven  forward  by  an  overpowering 
impulse,  I  dropped  on  my  knees  and  seized 
her  hands  with  a  convulsive  grasp.  "  Rosa ! 
Rosa !  "  —  my  voice  nearly  broke  —  "  you 
must  know  that  I  love  you.  Say  that  you 
love  me  —  that  you  would  love  me  whether 
Clarenceux  were  dead  or  alive." 

An  infinite  tenderness  shone  in  her  face. 
She  put  out  her  hand,  and  to  calm  me  stroked 
my  hair. 

"Carl!  "she  whispered. 

It  was  enough.  I  got  up.  I  did  not  kiss 
her. 

A  servant  entered,  and  said  that  some  one 
from  the  theatre  had  called  to  see  mademoi- 


THE   THING  IN   THE   CHAIR    271 

selle  on  urgent  business.  Excusing  herself, 
Rosa  went  out.  I  held  open  the  door  for  her, 
and  closed  it  slowly  with  a  sigh  of  incredible 
relief.  Then  I  turned  back  into  the  room. 
I  was  content  to  be  alone  for  a  little  while. 

Great  God !  The  chair  which  Rosa  had  but 
that  instant  left  was  not  empty.  Occupying 
it  was  a  figure  —  the  figure  of  the  man  whose 
portrait  hung  on  the  wall  —  the  figure  of  the 
man  who  had  haunted  me  ever  since  I  met 
Rosa  —  the  figure  of  Lord  Clarenceux,  whom 
Rosa  had  seen  dead. 

At  last,  oh,  powers  of  hell,  I  knew  you! 
The  inmost  mystery  stood  clear.  In  one 
blinding  flash  of  comprehension  I  felt  the  full- 
ness of  my  calamity.  This  man  that  I  had 
seen  was  not  a  man,  but  a  malign  and  jealous 
spirit  —  using  his  spectral  influences  to  crush 
the  mortals  bold  enough  to  love  the  woman 
whom  he  had  loved  on  earth.  The  death  of 
Alresca,  the  unaccountable  appearances  in  the 
cathedral,  in  the  train,  on  the  steamer  — 
everything  was  explained.  And  before  that 
coldly  sneering,  triumphant  face,  which  bore 
the  look  of  life,  and  which  I  yet  knew  to  be 
impalpable,  I  shook  with  the  terrified  ague 
of  a  culprit. 


272  THE    GHOST 

A  minute  or  a  thousand  years  might  have 
passed.  Then  Rosa  returned.  In  an  instant 
the  apparition  had  vanished.  But  by  her 
pallid,  drawn  face  and  her  gray  lips  I  knew 
that  she  had  seen  it.  Truly  she  was  cursed, 
and  I  with  her  I 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE    MENACE 

From  the  moment  of  my  avowal  to  Rosa  it 
seemed  that  the  evil  spirit  of  the  dead  Lord 
Clarenceux  had  assumed  an  ineffable  domin- 
ion over  me.  I  cannot  properly  describe  it;  I 
cannot  describe  it  all.  I  may  only  say  that  I 
felt  I  had  suddenly  become  the  subject  of  a 
tyrant  who  would  punish  me  if  I  persisted  in 
any  course  of  conduct  to  which  he  objected. 
I  knew  what  fear  was  —  the  most  terrible  of 
all  fears  —  the  fear  of  that  which  we  cannot 
understand.  The  inmost  and  central  throne  of 
my  soul  was  commanded  by  this  implacable 
ghost,  this  ghost  which  did  not  speak,  but 
which  conveyed  its  ideas  by  means  of  a  single 
glance,  a  single  sneer. 

It  was  strange  that  I  should  be  aware  at 
once  what  was  required  of  me,  and  the  reasons 
for  these  requirements.  Till  that  night  I  had 
never  guessed  the  nature  of  the  thing  which 

273 


274  THE   GHOST 

for  so  many  weeks  had  been  warning  me;  I 
had  not  even  guessed  that  I  was  being 
warned;  I  had  taken  for  a  man  that  which 
was  not  a  man.  Yet  now,  in  an  instant  of 
time,  all  was  clear  down  to  the  smallest  de- 
tails. From  the  primal  hour  when  a  liking 
for  Rosa  had  arisen  in  my  breast,  the  ghost 
of  Lord  Clarenceux,  always  hovering  uneasily 
near  to  its  former  love,  had  showed  itself  to 
me. 

The  figure  opposite  the  Devonshire  Man- 
sion —  that  was  the  first  warning.  With 
regard  to  the  second  appearance,  in  the  cathe- 
dral of  Bruges,  I  surmised  that  that  only 
indirectly  affected  myself.  Primarily  it  was 
the  celebration  of  a  fiendish  triumph  over  one 
who  had  preceded  me  in  daring  to  love  Ro- 
setta  Rosa,  but  doubtless  also  it  was  meant 
in  a  subsidiary  degree  as  a  second  warning 
to  the  youth  who  followed  in  Alresca's  foot- 
steps. Then  there  were  the  two  appearances 
during  my  journey  from  London  to  Paris  with 
Rosa's  jewels  —  in  the  train  and  on  the 
steamer.  Matters  by  that  time  had  become 
more  serious.  I  was  genuinely  in  love,  and 
the  ghost's  anger  was  quickened.  The  train 
was  wrecked  and  the  steamer  might  have  been 


THE    MENACE  275 

sunk,  and  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  the 
ghost,  in  some  ineffectual  way,  had  been  in- 
strumental in  both  these  disasters.  The  en- 
gine-driver, who  said  he  was  "  dazed,"  and 
the  steersman,  who  attributed  his  mistake  at 
the  wheel  to  the  interference  of  some  unknown 
outsider  —  were  not  these  things  an  indica- 
tion that  my  dreadful  suspicion  was  well 
grounded?  And  if  so,  to  what  frightful  ma- 
lignity did  they  not  point !  Here  was  a  spirit, 
which  in  order  to  appease  the  pangs  of  a 
supernatural  jealousy,  was  ready  to  use  its 
immaterial  powers  to  destroy  scores  of  people 
against  whom  it  could  not  possibly  have  any 
grudge.  The  most  fanatical  anarchism  is  not 
worse  than  this. 

Those  attempts  had  failed.  But  now  the 
aspect  of  affairs  was  changed.  The  ghost  of 
Lord  Clarenceux  had  more  power  over  me 
now  —  I  felt  that  acutely;  and  I  explained 
it  by  the  fact  that  I  was  in  the  near  neigh- 
borhood of  Rosa.  It  was  only  when  she  was 
near  that  the  jealous  hate  of  this  spectre  exer- 
cised its  full  efficacy. 

In  such  wise  did  I  reason  the  matter  out 
to  myself.  But  reasoning  was  quite  unneces- 
sary. I  knew  by  a  sure  instinct.  All  the  dark 


276  THE    GHOST 

thoughts  of  the  ghost  had  passed  into  my 
brain,  and  if  they  had  been  transcribed  in 
words  of  fire  and  burnt  upon  my  retina,  I 
could  not  have  been  more  certain  of  their 
exact  import. 

As  I  sat  in  my  room  at  the  hotel  that  night 
I  speculated  morosely  upon  my  plight  and 
upon  the  future.  Had  a  man  ever  been  so 
situated  before?  Well,  probably  so.  We  go 
about  in  a  world  where  secret  influences  are 
continually  at  work  for  us  or  against  us,  and 
we  do  not  suspect  their  existence,  because  we 
have  no  imagination.  For  it  needs  imagina- 
tion to  perceive  the  truth  —  that  is  why  the 
greatest  poets  are  always  the  greatest  teach- 
ers. 

As  for  you  who  are  disposed  to  smile  at  the 
idea  of  a  live  man  crushed  (figuratively) 
under  the  heel  of  a  ghost,  I  beg  you  to  look 
back  upon  your  own  experience,  and  count  up 
the  happenings  which  have  struck  you  as  mys- 
terious. You  will  be  astonished  at  their  num- 
ber. But  nothing  is  so  mysterious  that  it  is 
incapable  of  explanation,  did  we  but  know 
enough.  I,  by  a  singular  mischance,  was  put 
in  the  way  of  the  nameless  knowledge  which 
explains  all.  At  any  rate,  I  was  made  ac- 


THE    MENACE  277 

quainted  with  some  trifle  of  it.  I  had  strayed 
on  the  seashore  of  the  unknown,  and  picked 
up  a  pebble.  I  had  a  glimpse  of  that  other 
world  which  permeates  and  exists  side  by  side 
with  and  permeates  our  own. 

Just  now  I  used  the  phrase  "  under  the  heel 
of  a  ghost,"  and  I  used  it  advisedly.  It  indi- 
cates pretty  well  my  mental  condition.  I  was 
cowed,  mastered.  The  ghost  of  Clarenceux, 
driven  to  extremities  by  the  brief  scene  of 
tenderness  which  had  passed  in  Rosa's  draw- 
ing-room, had  determined  by  his  own  fell 
method  to  end  the  relations  between  Rosa  and 
myself.  And  his  method  was  to  assume  a 
complete  sway  over  me,  the  object  of  his 
hatred. 

How  did  he  exercise  that  sway?  Can  I 
answer?  I  cannot.  How  does  one  man  in- 
fluence another?  Not  by  electric  wires  or 
chemical  apparatus,  but  by  those  secret  chan- 
nels through  which  intelligence  meets  intelli- 
gence. All  I  know  is  that  I  felt  his  sinister 
authority.  During  life  Clarenceux,  according 
to  every  account,  had  been  masterful,  imperi- 
ous, commanding;  and  he  carried  these  attri- 
butes with  him  beyond  the  grave.  His  was  a 
stronger  personality  than  mine,  and  I  could 


278  THE   GHOST 

not  hide  from  myself  the  assurance  that  in  the 
struggle  of  will  against  will  I  should  not  be 
the  conqueror. 

Not  that  anything  had  occurred,  even  the 
smallest  thing!  Upon  perceiving  Rosa  the 
apparition,  as  I  have  said,  vanished.  We  did 
not  say  much  to  each  other,  Rosa  and  I;  we 
could  not  —  we  were  afraid.  I  went  to  my 
hotel;  I  sat  in  my  room  alone;  I  saw  no 
ghost.  But  I  was  aware,  I  was  aware  of  the 
doom  which  impended  over  me.  And  already, 
indeed,  I  experienced  the  curious  sensation 
of  the  ebbing  of  volitional  power;  I  thought 
even  that  I  was  losing  my  interest  in  life.  My 
sensations  were  dulled.  It  began  to  appear 
to  me  unimportant  whether  I  lived  or  died. 
Only  I  knew  that  in  either  case  I  should  love 
Rosa.  My  love  was  independent  of  my  will, 
and  therefore  the  ghost  of  Clarenceux,  do 
what  it  might,  could  not  tear  it  from  me.  I 
might  die,  I  might  suffer  mental  tortures 
inconceivable,  but  I  should  continue  to  love. 
In  this  idea  lay  my  only  consolation. 

I  remained  motionless  in  my  chair  for 
hours,  and  then  —  it  was  soon  after  the  clocks 
struck  four  —  I  sprang  up,  and  searched 
among  my  papers  for  Alresca's  letter,  the  seal 


THE    MENACE  279 

of  which,  according  to  his  desire,  was  still  in- 
tact. The  letter  had  been  in  my  mind  for  a 
long  time.  I  knew  well  that  the  moment  for 
opening  it  had  come,  that  the  circumstances 
to  which  Alresca  had  referred  in  his  covering 
letter  had  veritably  happened.  But  somehow, 
till  that  instant,  I  had  not  been  able  to  find 
courage  to  read  the  communication.  As  I 
opened  it  I  glanced  out  of  the  window.  The 
first  sign  of  dawn  was  in  the  sky.  I  felt  a 
little  easier. 

Here  is  what  I  read: 

"  My  dear  Carl  Foster :  —  When  you  read 
this  the  words  I  am  about  to  write  will  have 
acquired  the  sanction  which  belongs  to  the 
utterances  of  those  who  have  passed  away. 
Give  them,  therefore,  the  most  serious  con- 
sideration. 

"  If  you  are  not  already  in  love  with  Ro- 
setta  Rosa  you  soon  will  be.  I,  too,  as  you 
know,  have  loved  her.  Let  me  tell  you  some 
of  the  things  which  happened  to  me. 

"  From  the  moment  when  that  love  first 
sprang  up  in  my  heart  I  began  to  be  haunted 
by  —  I  will  not  say  what ;  you  know  with- 
out being  told,  for  whoever  loves  Rosa  will 


280  THE    GHOST 

be  haunted  as  I  was,  as  I  am.  Rosa  has  been 
loved  once  for  all,  and  with  a  passion  so  in- 
tense that  it  has  survived  the  grave.  For 
months  I  disregarded  the  visitations,  relying 
on  the  strength  of  my  own  soul.  I  misjudged 
myself,  or,  rather,  I  underestimated  my  adver- 
sary—  the  great  man  who  in  life  had  loved 
Rosa.  I  proposed  to  Rosa,  and  she  refused 
me.  But  that  did  not  quench  my  love.  My 
love  grew;  I  encouraged  it;  and  it  was  against 
the  mere  fact  of  my  love  that  the  warnings 
were  directed. 

"  You  remember  the  accident  on  the  stage 
which  led  to  our  meeting.  That  accident  was 
caused  by  sheer  terror  —  the  terror  of  an  ap- 
parition more  awful  than  any  that  had  gone 
before. 

"  Still  I  persisted  —  I  persisted  in  my  hope- 
less love.  Then  followed  that  unnamed  mal- 
ady which  in  vain  you  are  seeking  to  cure, 
a  malady  which  was  accompanied  by  innu- 
merable and  terrifying  phenomena.  The  mal- 
ady was  one  of  the  mind;  it  robbed  me  of 
the  desire  to  live.  More  than  that,  it  made  life 
intolerable.  At  last  I  surrendered.  I  believe 
I  am  a  brave  man,  but  it  is  the  privilege  of 
the  brave  man  to  surrender  without  losing 


THE    MENACE  281 

honor  to  an  adversary  who  has  proved  his 
superiority.  Yes,  I  surrendered.  I  cast  out 
love  in  order  that  I  might  live  for  my  art. 

"  But  I  was  too  late.  I  had  pushed  too  far 
the  enmity  of  this  spectral  and  unrelenting 
foe,  and  it  would  not  accept  my  surrender.  I 
have  dashed  the  image  of  Rosa  from  my  heart, 
and  I  have  done  it  to  no  purpose.  I  am  dying. 
And  so  I  write  this  for  you,  lest  you  should 
go  unwarned  to  the  same  doom. 

"  The  love  of  Rosa  is  worth  dying  for,  if 
you  can  win  it.  (I  could  not  even  win  it.) 
You  will  have  to  choose  between  Love  and 
Life.  I  do  not  counsel  you  either  way.  But 
I  urge  you  to  choose.  I  urge  you  either  to 
defy  your  foe  utterly  and  to  the  death,  or 
to  submit  before  submission  is  useless. 

"  Alresca." 

I  sat  staring  at  the  paper  long  after  I  had 
finished  reading  it,  thinking  about  poor  Al- 
resca. There  was  a  date  to  it,  and  this  date 
showed  that  it  was  written  a  few  days  before 
his  mysterious  disease  took  a  turn  for  the 
better. 

The  communication  accordingly  needs 
some  explanation.  It  seems  to  me  that  Al- 


282;  THE    GHOST 

resca  was  mistaken.  His  foe  was  not  so  im- 
placable as  Alresca  imagined.  Alresca  having 
surrendered  in  the  struggle  between  them,  the 
ghost  of  Lord  Clarenceux  hesitated,  and  then 
ultimately  withdrew  its  hateful  influence,  and 
Alresca  recovered.  Then  Rosa  came  again 
into  his  existence  that  evening  at  Bruges. 
Alresca,  scornful  of  consequences,  let  his  pas- 
sion burst  once  more  into  flame,  and  the 
ghost  instantly,  in  a  flash  of  anger,  worked 
its  retribution. 

Day  came,  and  during  the  whole  of  that 
day  I  pondered  upon  a  phrase  in  Alresca's 
letter,  "  You  will  have  to  choose  between  love 
and  life."  But  I  could  not  choose.  Love  is 
the  greatest  thing  in  life;  one  may,  however, 
question  whether  it  should  be  counted  greater 
than  life  itself.  I  tried  to  argue  the  question 
calmly,  dispassionately.  As  if  such  questions 
may  be  argued !  I  could  not  give  up  my  love ; 
I  could  not  give  up  my  life;  that  was  how 
all  my  calm,  dispassionate  arguments  ended. 
At  one  moment  I  was  repeating,  "  The  love 
of  Rosa  is  worth  dying  for ; "  at  the  next  I 
was  busy  with  the  high  and  dear  ambitions 
of  which  I  had  so  often  dreamed.  Were  these 
to  be  sacrificed?  Moreover,  what  use  would 


THE    MENACE  283 

Rosa's  love  be  to  me  when  I  was  dead?  And 
what  use  would  my  life  be  to  me  without  my 
love  for  her? 

A  hundred  times  I  tried  to  laugh,  and  said 
to  myself  that  I  was  the  victim  of  fancy,  that 
I  should  see  nothing  further  of  this  prodig- 
ious apparition;  that,  in  short,  my  brain  had 
been  overtaxed  by  recent  events,  and  I  had 
suffered  from  delusions.  Vain  and  conven- 
tional self-deceptions!  At  the  bottom  of  my 
soul  lay  always  the  secret  and  profound  con- 
viction that  I  was  doomed,  cursed,  caught 
in  the  toils  of  a  relentless  foe  who  was  armed 
with  all  the  strange  terrors  of  the  unknown; 
a  foe  whose  onslaughts  it  was  absolutely  im- 
possible for  me  to  parry. 

As  the  hours  passed  a  yearning  to  see 
Rosa,  to  be  near  her,  came  upon  me.  I 
fought  against  it,  fearing  I  know  not  what 
as  the  immediate  consequence.  I  wished  to 
temporize,  or,  at  any  rate,  to  decide  upon  a 
definite  course  of  conduct  before  I  saw  her 
again.  But  towards  evening  I  felt  that  I 
should  yield  to  the  impulse  to  behold  her. 
I  said  to  myself,  as  though  I  needed  some 
excuse,  that  she  would  have  a  great  deal  of 
trouble  with  the  arrangements  for  Sir  Cyril's 


284  THE   GHOST 

funeral,  and  that  I  ought  to  offer  my  assist- 
ance; that,  indeed,  I  ought  to  have  offered 
my  assistance  early  in  the  day. 

I  presented  myself  after  dinner.  She  was 
dressed  in  black,  and  her  manner  was  nerv- 
ous, flurried,  ill  at  ease.  We  shook  hands 
very  formally,  and  then  could  find  nothing 
to  say  to  each  other.  Had  she,  with  a 
woman's  instinct,  guessed,  from  that  instant's 
view  of  the  thing  in  the  chair  last  night,  all 
that  was  involved  for  me  in  our  love?  If 
not  all,  she  had  guessed  most  of  it.  She  had 
guessed  that  the  powerful  spirit  of  Lord 
Clarenceux  was  inimical,  fatally  inimical,  to 
me.  None  knew  better  than  herself  the  ter- 
rible strength  of  his  jealousy.  I  wondered 
what  were  her  thoughts,  her  secret  desires. 

At  length  she  began  to  speak  of  common- 
place matters. 

"  Guess  who  has  called,"  she  said,  with  a 
little  smile. 

"  I  give  it  up,"  I  said,  with  a  smile  as  arti- 
ficial as  her  own. 

"  Mrs.  Sullivan  Smith.  She  and  Sullivan 
Smith  are  on  their  way  home  from  Bayreuth; 
they  are  at  the  Hotel  du  Rhin.  She  wanted 
to  know  all  about  what  happened  in  the  Rue 


THE    MENACE  285 

Thiers,  and  to  save  trouble  I  told  her.  She 
stayed  a  long  time.  There  have  been  a  lot 
of  callers.  I  am  very  tired.  I  —  I  expected 
you  earlier.  But  you  are  not  listening." 

I  was  not.  I  was  debating  whether  or  not 
to  show  her  Alresca's  letter.  I  decided  to  do 
so,  and  I  handed  it  to  her  there  and  then. 

"  Read  that/'  I  murmured. 

She  read  it  in  silence,  and  then  looked  at 
me.  Her  tender  eyes  were  filled  with  tears. 
I  cast  away  all  my  resolutions  of  prudence, 
of  wariness,  before  that  gaze.  Seizing  her  in 
my  arms,  I  kissed  her  again  and  again. 

"  I  have  always  suspected  —  what  —  what 
Alresca  says/'  she  murmured. 

"But  you  love  me?"  I  cried  passionately. 

"Do  you  need  to  be  told,  my  poor  Carl?" 
she  replied,  with  the  most  exquisite  melan- 
choly. 

"Then  I'll  defy  hell  itself!"  I  said. 

She  hung  passive  in  my  embrace. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE    STRUGGLE 

When  I  got  back  to  my  little  sitting-room 
at  the  Hotel  de  Portugal,  I  experienced  a  cer- 
tain timid  hesitation  in  opening  the  door.  For 
several  seconds  I  stood  before  it,  the  key  in 
the  lock,  afraid  to  enter.  I  wanted  to  rush  out 
again,  to  walk  the  streets  all  night;  it  was 
raining,  but  I  thought  that  anything  would 
be  preferable  to  the  inside  of  my  sitting-room. 
Then  I  felt  that,  whatever  the  cost,  I  must  go 
in;  and,  twisting  the  key,  I  pushed  heavily 
at  the  door,  and  entered,  touching  as  I  did  so 
the  electric  switch.  In  the  chair  which  stood 
before  the  writing-table  in  the  middle  of  the 
room  sat  the  figure  of  Lord  Clarenceux. 

Yes,  my  tormentor  was  indeed  waiting.  I 
had  defied  him,  and  we  were  about  to  try  a 
fall.  As  for  me,  I  may  say  that  my  heart  sank, 
sick  with  an  ineffable  fear.  The  figure  did  not 
move  as  I  went  in;  its  back  was  towards  me. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  room  was  the  doorway 

286 


THE    STRUGGLE  287 

which  led  to  the  small  bedroom,  little  more 
than  an  alcove,  and  the  gaze  of  the  apparition 
was  fixed  on  this  doorway. 

I  closed  the  outer  door  behind  me,  and 
locked  it,  and  then  I  stood  still.  In  the  look- 
ing-glass over  the  mantelpiece  I  saw  a  drawn, 
pale,  agitated  face  in  which  all  the  trouble  of 
the  world  seemed  to  reside;  it  was  my  own 
face.  I  was  alone  in  the  room  with  the  ghost 
—  the  ghost  which,  jealous  of  my  love  for  the 
woman  it  had  loved,  meant  to  revenge  itself 
by  my  death. 

A  ghost,  did  I  say?  To  look  at  it,  no  one 
would  have  taken  it  for  an  apparition.  No 
wonder  that  till  the  previous  evening  I  had 
never  suspected  it  to  be  other  than  a  man.  It 
was  dressed  in  black;  it  had  the  very  aspect 
of  life.  I  could  follow  the  creases  in  the  frock 
coat,  the  direction  of  the  nap  of  the  silk  hat 
which  it  wore  in  my  room.  How  well  by  this 
time  I  knew  that  faultless  black  coat  and  that 
impeccable  hat!  Yet  it  seemed  that  I  could 
not  examine  them  too  closely.  I  pierced  them 
with  the  intensity  of  my  fascinated  glance. 
Yes,  I  pierced  them,  for  showing  faintly 
through  the  coat  I  could  discern  the  outline 
of  the  table  which  should  have  been  hidden  by 


288  THE    GHOST 

the  man's  figure,  and  through  the  hat  I  could 

see  the  handle  of  the  French  window. 

As  I  stood  motionless  there,  solitary  under 
the  glow  of  the  electric  light  with  this  fearful 
visitor,  I  began  to  wish  that  it  would  move. 
I  wanted  to  face  it  —  to  meet  its  gaze  with 
my  gaze,  eye  to  eye,  and  will  against  will. 
The  battle  between  us  must  start  at  once,  I 
thought,  if  I  was  to  have  any  chance  of  vic- 
tory, for  moment  by  moment  I  could  feel  my 
resolution,  my  manliness,  my  mere  physical 
courage,  slipping  away. 

But  the  apparition  did  not  stir.  Impassive, 
remorseless,  sinister,  it  was  content  to  wait, 
well  aware  that  all  suspense  was  in  its  favor. 
Then  I  said  to  myself  that  I  would  cross  the 
room,  and  so  attain  my  object.  I  made  a  step 
—  and  drew  back,  frightened  by  the  sound  of 
a  creaking  board.  Absurd!  But  it  was  quite 
a  minute  before  I  dared  to  make  another  step. 
I  had  meant  to  walk  straight  across  to  the 
other  door,  passing  in  my  course  close  by  the 
occupied  chair.  I  did  not  do  so;  I  kept  round 
by  the  wall,  creeping  on  tiptoe  and  my  eye 
never  leaving  the  figure  in  the  chair.  I  did 
this  in  spite  of  myself,  and  the  manner  of  my 
action  was  the  first  hint  of  an  ultimate  defeat. 


THE    STRUGGLE  289 

At  length  I  stood  in  the  doorway  leading 
to  the  bedroom.  I  could  feel  the  perspiration 
on  my  forehead  and  at  the  back  of  my  neck. 
I  fronted  the  inscrutable  white  face  of  the 
thing  which  had  once  been  Lord  Clarenceux, 
the  lover  of  Rosetta  Rosa;  I  met  its  awful 
eyes,  dark,  invidious,  fateful.  Ah,  those  eyes ! 
Even  in  my  terror  I  could  read  in  them  all  the 
history,  all  the  characteristics,  of  Lord  Claren- 
ceux. They  were  the  eyes  of  one  capable  at 
once  of  the  highest  and  of  the  lowest.  Min- 
gled with  their  hardness  was  a  melting  soft- 
ness, with  their  cruelty  a  large  benevolence, 
with  their  hate  a  pitying  tenderness,  with  their 
spirituality  a  hellish  turpitude.  They  were 
the  eyes  of  two  opposite  men,  and  as  I  gazed 
into  them  they  reconciled  for  me  the  conflict- 
ing accounts  of  Lord  Clarenceux  which  I  had 
heard  from  different  people. 

But  as  far  as  I  was  concerned  that  night  the 
eyes  held  nothing  but  cruelty  and  disaster; 
though  I  could  detect  in  them  the  other  qual- 
ities, those  qualities  were  not  for  me.  We 
faced  each  other,  the  apparition  and  I,  and  the 
struggle,  silent  and  bitter  as  the  grave,  began. 
Neither  of  us  moved.  My  arms  were  folded 
easily,  but  my  nails  pressed  in  the  palms  of 


290  THE    GHOST 

my  clenched  hands.  My  teeth  were  set,  my 
lips  tight  together,  my  glance  unswerving.  By 
sheer  strength  of  endeavor  I  cast  aside  all  my 
forebodings  of  defeat,  and  in  my  heart  I  said 
with  the  profoundest  conviction  that  I  would 
love  Rosa  though  the  seven  seas  and  all  the 
continents  gave  up  their  dead  to  frighten 
me. 

So  we  remained,  for  how  long  I  do  not 
know.  It  may  have  been  hours;  it  may  have 
been  only  minutes;  I  cannot  tell.  Then  grad- 
ually there  came  over  me  a  feeling  that  the 
ghost  in  the  chair  was  growing  larger.  The 
ghastly  inhuman  sneer  on  his  thin  widening 
lips  assaulted  me  like  a  giant's  malediction. 
And  the  light  in  the  room  seemed  to  become 
more  brilliant,  till  it  was  almost  blinding  with 
the  dazzle  of  its  whiteness.  This  went  on  for 
a  time,  and  once  more  I  pulled  myself  together, 
collected  my  scattering  senses,  and  seized 
again  the  courage  and  determination  which 
had  nearly  slipped  from  me. 

But  I  knew  that  I  must  get  away,  out  of 
sight  of  this  moveless  and  diabolic  figure, 
which  did  not  speak,  but  which  made  known 
its  commands  by  means  of  its  eyes  alone. 
"  Resign  her !  "  the  eyes  said.  "  Tear  your 


THE    STRUGGLE  291 

love  for  her  out  of  your  heart !  Swear  that  you 
will  never  see  her  again  —  or  I  will  ruin  you 
utterly,  not  only  now,  but  forever  more !  " 

And  though  I  trembled,  my  eyes  answered 
"  No." 

For  some  reason  which  I  cannot  at  all  ex- 
plain, I  suddenly  took  off  my  overcoat,  and, 
drawing  aside  the  screen  which  ran  across  the 
corner  of  the  room  at  my  right  hand,  forming 
a  primitive  sort  of  wardrobe,  I  hung  it  on  one 
of  the  hooks.  I  had  to  feel  with  my  fingers 
for  the  hook,  because  I  kept  my  gaze  on  the 
figure. 

"  I  will  go  into  the  bedroom,"  I  said. 

And  I  half-turned  to  pass  through  the  door- 
way. Then  I  stopped.  If  I  did  so,  the  eyes 
of  the  ghost  would  be  upon  my  back,  and  I 
felt  that  I  could  only  withstand  that  glance  by 
meeting  it.  To  have  it  on  my  back!  .  .  . 
Doubtless  I  was  going  mad.  However,  I  went 
backwards  through  the  doorway,  and  then 
rapidly  stepped  out  of  sight  of  the  apparition, 
and  sat  down  upon  the  bed. 

Useless!  I  must  return.  The  mere  idea  of 
the  empty  sitting-room  —  empty  with  the 
ghost  in  it  —  filled  me  with  a  new  and 
stranger  fear.  Horrible  happenings  might 


292  THE    GHOST 

"N 

occur  in  that  room,  and  I  must  be  there  to  see 
them!  Moreover,  the  ghost's  gaze  must  not 
fall  on  nothing;  that  would  be  too  appalling 
(without  doubt  I  was  mad) ;  its  gaze  must 
meet  something,  otherwise  it  would  travel  out 
into  space  further  and  further  till  it  had  left 
all  the  stars  and  waggled  aimless  in  the  ether: 
the  notion  of  such  a  calamity  was  unbearable. 
Besides,  I  was  hungry  for  that  gaze ;  my  eyes 
desired  those  eyes;  if  that  glance  did  not  press 
against  them,  they  would  burst  from  my  head 
and  roll  on  the  floor,  and  I  should  be  compelled 
to  go  down  on  my  hands  and  knees  and  grope 
in  search  for  them.  No,  no,  I  must  return 
to  the  sitting-room.  And  I  returned. 

The  gaze  met  me  in  the  doorway.  And  now 
there  was  something  novel  in  it  —  an  added 
terror,  a  more  intolerable  menace,  a  silent  im- 
precation so  frightful  that  no  human  being 
could  suffer  it.  I  sank  to  the  ground,  and  as 
I  did  so  I  shrieked,  but  it  was  an  unheard 
shriek,  sounding  only  within  the  brain.  And 
in  reply  to  that  unheard  shriek  I  heard  the  un- 
heard voice  of  the  ghost  crying,  "  Yield!  " 

I  would  not  yield.  Crushed,  maddened,  tor- 
tured by  a  worse  than  any  physical  torture, 
I  would  not  yield.  But  I  wanted  to  die.  I 


THE  STRUGGLE  293 

felt  that  death  would  be  sweet  and  utterly 
desirable.  And  so  thinking,  I  faded  into  a 
kind  of  coma,  or  rather  a  state  which  was  just 
short  of  coma.  I  had  not  lost  consciousness, 
but  I  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  the  gaze. 

"Good-by,  Rosa,"  I  whispered.  "  I'm 
beaten,  but  my  love  has  not  been  conquered." 

The  next  thing  I  remembered  was  the  pale- 
ness of  the  dawn  at  the  window.  The  appari- 
tion had  vanished  for  that  night,  and  I  was 
alive.  But  I  knew  that  I  had  touched  the 
skirts  of  death;  I  knew  that  after  another 
such  night  I  should  die. 

The  morning  chocolate  arrived,  and  by  force 
of  habit  I  consumed  it.  I  felt  no  interest  in 
any  earthly  thing;  my  sole  sensation  was  a 
dread  of  the  coming  night,  which  all  too  soon 
would  be  upon  me.  For  several  hours  I  sat, 
pale  and  nerveless,  in  my  room,  despising  my- 
self for  a  weakness  and  a  fear  which  I  could 
not  possibly  avoid.  I  was  no  longer  my  own 
master;  I  was  the  slave,  the  shrinking  chattel 
of  a  ghost,  and  the  thought  of  my  condition 
was  a  degradation  unspeakable. 

During  the  afternoon  a  ray  of  hope  flashed 
upon  me.  Mrs.  Sullivan  Smith  was  at  the 
Hotel  du  Rhin,  so  Rosa  had  said ;  I  would  call 


294  THE    GHOST 

on  her.  I  remembered  her  strange  demeanor 
to  me  on  the  occasion  of  our  first  meeting, 
and  afterwards  at  the  reception.  It  seemed 
clear  to  me  now  that  she  must  have  known 
something.  Perhaps  she  might  help  me. 

I  found  her  in  a  garish  apartment  too  full 
of  Louis  Philippe  furniture,  robed  in  a  crimson 
tea-gown,  and  apparently  doing  nothing  what- 
ever. She  had  the  calm  quiescence  of  a  Span- 
ish woman.  Yet  when  she  saw  me  her  eyes 
burned  with  a  sudden  dark  excitement. 

"  Carl,"  she  said,  with  the  most  staggering 
abruptness,  "  you  are  dying." 

"How  do  you  know?"  I  said  morosely. 
"Do  I  look  it?" 

"  Yet  the  crystal  warned  you ! "  she  re- 
turned, with  apparent  but  not  real  inconse- 
quence. 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me,"  I  said  eagerly,  and 
with  no  further  pretence.  '  You  must  have 
known  something  then,  when  you  made  me 
look  in  the  crystal.  What  did  you  know  — 
and  how?  " 

She  sat  a  moment  in  thought,  stately,  half- 
languid,  mysterious. 

"  First,"  she  said,  "  let  me  hear  all  that  has 
happened.  Then  I  will  tell  you." 


THE    STRUGGLE  295 

"Is  Sullivan  about?"  I  asked.  I  felt  that 
if  I  was  to  speak  I  must  not  be  interrupted 
by  that  good-natured  worldling. 

"  Sullivan,"  she  said  a  little  scornfully,  with 
gentle  contempt,  "  is  learning  French  billiards. 
You  are  perfectly  safe."  She  understood. 

Then  I  told  her  without  the  least  reserva- 
tion all  that  had  happened  to  me,  and  espe- 
cially my  experiences  of  the  previous  night. 
When  I  had  finished  she  looked  at  me  with 
her  large  sombre  eyes,  which  were  full  of  pity, 
but  not  of  hope.  I  waited  for  her  words. 

"  Now,  listen,"  she  said.  "  You  shall  hear. 
I  was  with  Lord  Clarenceux  when  he  died." 

"You!"  I  exclaimed.  "In  Vienna!  But 
even  Rosa  was  not  with  him.  How " 

"Patience!  And  do  not  interrupt  me  with 
questions.  I  am  giving  away  a  secret  which 
carries  with  it  my  —  my  reputation.  Long 
before  my  marriage  I  had  known  Lord  Claren- 
ceux. He  knew  many  women;  I  was  one  of 
them.  That  affair  ended.  I  married  Sullivan. 

"  I  happened  to  be  in  Vienna  at  the  time 
Lord  Clarenceux  was  taken  with  brain  fever. 
I  was  performing  at  a  music-hall  on  the  Pra- 
ter. There  was  a  great  rage  then  for  English 
singers  in  Vienna.  I  knew  he  was  alone.  I 


296  THE    GHOST 

remembered  certain  things  that  had  passed 
between  us,  and  I  went  to  him.  I  helped  to 
nurse  him.  He  was  engaged  to  Rosa,  but 
Rosa  was  far  away,  and  could  not  come  imme- 
diately. He  grew  worse.  The  doctors  said 
one  day  that  he  must  die.  That  night  I  was 
by  his  bedside.  He  got  suddenly  up  out  of 
bed.  I  could  not  stop  him:  he  had  the  strength 
of  delirium.  He  went  into  his  dressing-room, 
and  dressed  himself  fully,  even  to  his  hat, 
without  any  assistance. 

"  '  Where  are  you  going? '  I  said  to  him. 

" '  I  am  going  to  her/  he  said.  '  These 
cursed  doctors  say  I  shall  die.  But  I  sha'n't. 
I  want  her.  Why  hasn't  she  come?  I  must 
go  and  find  her/ 

"  Then  he  fell  across  the  bed  exhausted.  He 
was  dying.  I  had  rung  for  help,  but  no  one 
had  come,  and  I  ran  out  of  the  room  to  call  on 
the  landing.  When  I  came  back  he  was  sitting 
up  in  bed,  all  dressed,  and  still  with  his  hat  on. 
It  was  the  last  flicker  of  his  strength.  His 
eyes  glittered.  He  began  to  speak.  How  he 
stared  at  me !  I  shall  never  forget  it ! 

"'I  am  dying!'  he  said  hoarsely.  'They 
were  right,  after  all.  I  shall  lose  her.  I  would 
sell  my  soul  to  keep  her,  yet  death  takes  me 


THE    STRUGGLE  297 

from  her.  She  is  young  and  beautiful,  and 
will  live  many  years.  But  I  have  loved  her, 
and  where  I  have  loved  let  others  beware.  I 
shall  never  be  far  from  her,  and  if  another  man 
should  dare  to  cast  eyes  on  her  I  will  curse 
him.  The  heat  of  my  jealousy  shall  blast  his 
very  soul.  He,  too,  shall  die.  Rosa  was  mine  in 
life,  and  she  shall  be  mine  in  death.  My  spirit 
will  watch  over  her,  for  no  man  ever  loved  a 
woman  as  I  loved  Rosa.'  Those  were  his  very 
words,  Carl.  Soon  afterwards  he  died." 

She  recited  Clarenceux's  last  phrases  with 
such  genuine  emotion  that  I  could  almost  hear 
Clarenceux  himself  saying  them.  I  felt  sure 
that  she  had  remembered  them  precisely,  and 
that  Clarenceux  would,  indeed,  have  employed 
just  such  terms. 

"And  you  believe,"  I  murmured,  after  a 
long  pause,  during  which  I  fitted  the  remark- 
able narration  in  with  my  experiences,  and 
found  that  it  tallied  —  "  you  believe  that  Lord 
Clarenceux  could  keep  his  word  after  death?  " 

"  I  believe !  "  she  said  simply. 

'  Then  there  is  no  hope  for  me,  Emmeline?  " 

She  looked  at  me  vaguely,  absently,  without 
speaking,  and  shook  her  head.  Her  lustrous 
eyes  filled  with  tears. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

THE    INTERCESSION 

Just  as  I  was  walking  away  from  the  hotel 
I  perceived  Rosa's  victoria  drawing  up  before 
the  portico.  She  saw  me.  We  exchanged  a 
long  look  —  a  look  charged  with  anxious  ques- 
tionings. Then  she  beckoned  to  me,  and  I, 
as  it  were  suddenly  waking  from  a  trance, 
raised  my  hat,  and  went  to  her. 

"  Get  in,"  she  said,  without  further  greet- 
ing. "  We  will  drive  to  the  Arc  de  Triomphe 
and  back.  I  was  going  to  call  on  Mrs.  Sullivan 
Smith,  —  just  a  visit  of  etiquette,  —  but  I  will 
postpone  that/* 

Her  manner  was  constrained,  as  it  had  been 
on  the  previous  day,  but  I  could  see  that  she 
was  striving  hard  to  be  natural.  For  myself, 
I  did  not  speak.  I  felt  nervous,  even  irritable, 
in  my  love  for  her.  Gradually,  however,  her 

presence  soothed  me,  slackened  the  tension  of 

298 


THE    INTERCESSION  299 

my  system,  and  I  was  able  to  find  a  faint  pleas- 
ure in  the  beauty  of  the  September  afternoon, 
and  of  the  girl  by  my  side,  in  the  smooth  move- 
ment of  the  carriage,  and  the  general  gaiety 
and  color  of  the  broad  tree-lined  Champs 
Elysees. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  to  drive  with  you?  " 
I  asked  her  at  length,  abruptly  yet  suavely. 
Amid  the  noise  of  the  traffic  we  could  converse 
with  the  utmost  privacy. 

"  Because  I  have  something  to  say  to  you," 
she  answered,  looking  straight  in  front  of  her. 

"  Before  you  say  it,  one  question  occurs  to 
me.  You  are  dressed  in  black;  you  are  in 
mourning  for  Sir  Cyril,  your  father,  who  is  not 
even  buried.  And  yet  you  told  me  just  now 
that  you  were  paying  a  mere  visit  of  etiquette 
to  my  cousin  Emmeline.  Is  it  usual  in  Paris 
for  ladies  in  mourning  to  go  out  paying  calls? 
But  perhaps  you  had  a  special  object  in  calling 
on  Emmeline." 

"  I  had,"  she  replied  at  once  with  dignity, 
"  and  I  did  not  wish  you  to  know." 

"What  was  it?" 

"Really,  Mr.  Foster " 

"'Mr.  Foster!'" 

"  Yes ;   I  won't  call  you  Carl  any  more.    I 


300  THE    GHOST 

have  made  a  mistake,  and  it  is  as  well  you 
should  hear  of  it  now.  I  can't  love  you.  I 
have  misunderstood  my  feelings.  What  I  feel 
for  you  is  gratitude,  not  love.  I  want  you  to 
forget  me." 

She  was  pale  and  restless. 

"  Rosa !  "  I  exclaimed  warningly. 
'  Yes,"  she  continued  urgently  and  fever- 
ishly, "  forget  me.    I  may  seem  cruel,  but  it  is 
best   there  should   be   no   beating  about   the 
bush.    I  can't  love  you." 

"Rosa!"  I  repeated. 

"  Go  back  to  London,"  she  went  on.  "  You 
have  ambitions.  Fulfil  them.  Work  at  your 
profession.  Above  all,  don't  think  of  me. 
And  always  remember  that  though  I  am  very 
grateful  to  you,  I  cannot  love  you  —  never !  " 

"That  isn't  true,  Rosa!"  I  said  quietly. 
'  You  have  invited  me  into  this  carriage  sim- 
ply to  lie  to  me.  But  you  are  an  indifferent 
liar  —  it  is  not  your  forte.  My  dear  child,  do 
you  imagine  that  I  cannot  see  through  your 
poor  little  plan?  Mrs.  Sullivan  Smith  has 
been  talking  to  you,  and  it  has  occurred  to 
you  that  if  you  cast  me  off,  the  anger  of  that 
—  that  thing  may  be  appeased,  and  I  may  be 
saved  from  the  fate  that  overtook  Alresca. 


THE  INTERCESSION  301 

You  were  calling  on  Emmeline  to  ask  her  ad- 
vice finally,  as  she  appears  to  be  mixed  up  in 
this  affair.  Then,  on  seeing  me,  you  decided 
all  of  a  sudden  to  take  your  courage  in  both 
hands,  and  dismiss  me  at  once.  It  was  heroic 
of  you,  Rosa;  it  was  a  splendid  sacrifice  of 
your  self-respect.  But  it  can't  be.  Nothing 
is  going  to  disturb  my  love.  If  I  die  under 
some  mysterious  influence,  then  I  die;  but  I 
shall  die  loving  you,  and  I  shall  die  absolutely 
certain  that  you  love  me." 

Her  breast  heaved,  and  under  the  carriage 
rug  her  hand  found  mine  and  clasped  it.  We 
did  not  look  at  each  other.  In  a  thick  voice  I 
called  to  the  coachman  to  stop.  I  got  out,  and 
the  vehicle  passed  on.  If  I  had  stayed  with 
her,  I  should  have  wept  in  sight  of  the  whole 
street. 

I  ate  no  dinner  that  evening,  but  spent  the 
hours  in  wandering  up  and  down  the  long  ver- 
durous alleys  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Arc 
de  Triomphe.  I  was  sure  of  Rosa's  love,  and 
that  thought  gave  me  a  certain  invigoration. 
But  to  be  sure  of  a  woman's  love  when  that 
love  means  torture  and  death  to  you  is  not  a 
complete  and  perfect  happiness.  No,  my  heart 
was  full  of  bitterness  and  despair,  and  my 


302  THE    GHOST 

mind  invaded  by  a  miserable  weakness.  I 
pitied  myself,  and  at  the  same  time  I  scorned 
myself.  After  all,  the  ghost  had  no  actual 
power  over  me;  a  ghost  cannot  stab,  cannot 
throttle,  cannot  shoot.  A  ghost  can  only  act 
upon  the  mind,  and  if  the  mind  is  feeble 
enough  to  allow  itself  to  be  influenced  by  an 
intangible  illusion,  then 

But  how  futile  were  such  arguments! 
Whatever  the  power  might  be,  the  fact  that 
the  ghost  had  indeed  a  power  over  me  was 
indisputable.  All  day  I  had  felt  the  spectral 
sword  of  it  suspended  above  my  head.  My 
timid  footsteps  lingering  on  the  way  to  the 
hotel  sufficiently  proved  its  power.  The  ex- 
periences of  the  previous  night  might  be 
merely  subjective  —  conceptions  of  the  imag- 
ination —  but  they  were  no  less  real,  no  less 
fatal  to  me  on  that  account. 

Once  I  had  an  idea  of  not  going  to  the  hotel 
that  night  at  all.  But  of  what  use  could  such 
an  avoidance  be?  The  apparition  was  bound 
by  no  fetters  to  that  terrible  sitting-room  of 
mine.  I  might  be  put  to  the  ordeal  anywhere, 
even  here  in  the  thoroughfares  of  the  city,  and 
upon  the  whole  I  preferred  to  return  to  my 


THE    INTERCESSION  303 

lodging.    Nay,  I  was  the  victim  of  a  positive 
desire  for  that  scene  of  my  torture. 

I  returned.  It  was  eleven  o'clock.  The  ap- 
parition awaited  me.  But  this  time  it  was  not 
seated  in  the  chair.  It  stood  with  its  back  to 
the  window,  and  its  gaze  met  mine  as  I  entered 
the  room.  I  did  not  close  the  door,  and  my 
eyes  never  left  its  face.  The  sneer  on  its  thin 
lips  was  bitterer,  more  devilishly  triumphant, 
than  before.  Erect,  motionless,  and  inexo- 
rable, the  ghost  stood  there,  and  it  seemed  to 
say:  "What  is  the  use  of  leaving  the  door 
open?  You  dare  not  escape.  You  cannot 
keep  away  from  me.  To-night  you  shall  die 
of  sheer  terror." 

With  a  wild  audacity  I  sat  down  in  the  very 
chair  which  it  had  occupied,  and  drummed  my 
fingers  on  the  writing-table.  Then  I  took  off 
my  hat,  and  with  elaborate  aim  pitched  it  on 
to  a  neighboring  sofa.  I  was  making  a  rare 
pretence  of  carelessness.  But  moment  by  mo- 
ment, exactly  as  before,  my  courage  and  reso- 
lution oozed  out  of  me,  drawn  away  by  that 
mystic  presence. 

Once  I  got  up  filled  with  a  brilliant  notion. 
I  would  approach  the  apparition ;  I  would  try 
to  touch  it.  Could  I  but  do  so,  it  would  van- 


304  THE   GHOST 

ish;  I  felt  convinced  it  would  vanish.  I  got 
up,  as  I  say,  but  I  did  not  approach  the  ghost. 
I  was  unable  to  move  forward,  held  by  a  name- 
less dread.  I  dropped  limply  back  into  the 
chair.  The  phenomena  of  the  first  night  re- 
peated themselves,  but  more  intensely,  with  a 
more  frightful  torture.  Once  again  I  sought 
relief  from  the  agony  of  that  gaze  by  retreat- 
ing into  the  bedroom ;  once  again  I  was  com- 
pelled by  the  same  indescribable  fear  to  re- 
turn, and  once  again  I  fell  down,  smitten  by 
a  new  and  more  awful  menace,  a  kind  of  in- 
credible blasphemy  which  no  human  thought 
can  convey. 

And  now  the  ghost  moved  mysteriously  and 
ominously  towards  me.  With  an  instinct  of 
defence,  cowed  as  I  was  upon  the  floor,  I 
raised  my  hand  to  ward  it  off.  Useless  at- 
tempt! It  came  near  and  nearer,  impercepti- 
bly moving. 

"  Let  me  die  in  peace,"  I  said  within  my 
brain. 

But  it  would  not.  Not  only  must  I  die,  but 
in  order  to  die  I  must  traverse  all  the  hideous 
tortures  of  the  soul  which  that  lost  spirit  had 
learnt  in  its  dire  wanderings. 

The  ghost  stood  over  me,  impending  like  a 


THE    INTERCESSION  305 

doom.  Then  it  suddenly  looked  towards  the 
door,  startled,  and  the  door  swung  on  its 
hinges.  A  girl  entered  —  a  girl  dressed  in 
black,  her  shoulders  and  bosom  gleaming 
white  against  the  dark  attire,  a  young  girl 
with  the  heavenliest  face  on  this  earth.  Cast- 
ing herself  on  her  knees  before  the  apparition, 
she  raised  to  that  dreadful  spectre  her  coun- 
tenance transfigured  by  the  ecstasy  of  a  sub- 
lime appeal.  It  was  Rosa. 

Can  I  describe  what  followed?  Not  ade- 
quately, only  by  imperfect  hints.  These  two 
faced  each  other,  Rosa  and  the  apparition. 
She  uttered  no  word.  But  I,  in  my  stupor, 
knew  that  she  was  interceding  with  the  spec- 
tre for  my  life.  Her  lovely  eyes  spoke  to  it 
of  its  old  love,  its  old  magnanimity,  and  in  the 
name  of  that  love  and  that  magnanimity  called 
upon  it  to  renounce  the  horrible  vengeance  of 
which  I  was  the  victim. 

For  long  the  spectre  gazed  with  stern  and 
formidable  impassivity  upon  the  girl.  I  trem- 
bled, all  hope  and  all  despair,  for  the  issue. 
She  would  not  be  vanquished.  Her  love  was 
stronger  than  its  hate ;  her  love  knew  not  the 
name  of  fear.  For  a  thousand  nights,  so  it 
seemed,  the  two  remained  thus,  at  grips,  as  it 


306  THE    GHOST 

were,  in  a  death-struggle.  Then  with  a  reluc- 
tant gesture  of  abdication  the  ghost  waved  a 
hand;  its  terrible  features  softened  into  a  con- 
sent, and  slowly  it  faded  away. 

As  I  lay  there  Rosa  bent  over  me,  and  put 
her  arms  round  my  neck,  and  I  could  feel  on 
my  face  the  caress  of  her  hair,  and  the  warm 
baptism  of  her  tears  —  tears  of  joy. 

I  raised  her  gently.  I  laid  her  on  the  sofa, 
and  with  a  calm,  blissful  expectancy  awaited 
the  moment  when  her  eyes  should  open.  Ah! 
I  may  not  set  down  here  the  sensation  of  relief 
which  spread  through  my  being  as  I  realized 
with  every  separate  brain-cell  that  I  was  no 
longer  a  victim,  the  doomed  slave  of  an  evil 
and  implacable  power,  but  a  free  man  —  free 
to  live,  free  to  love,  exempt  from  the  atrocious 
influences  of  the  nether  sphere.  I  saw  that 
ever  since  the  first  encounter  in  Oxford  Street 
my  existence  had  been  under  a  shadow,  dark 
and  malign  and  always  deepening,  and  that 
this  shadow  was  now  magically  dissipated  in 
the  exquisite  dawn  of  a  new  day.  And  I  gave 
thanks,  not  only  to  Fate,  but  to  the  divine  girl 
who  in  one  of  those  inspirations  accorded  only 


THE    INTERCESSION  307 

to  genius  had  conceived  the  method  of  my 
enfranchisement,  and  so  nobly  carried  it  out. 

Her  eyelids  wavered,  and  she  looked  at  me. 

"  It  is  gone?  "  she  murmured. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  the  curse  is  lifted." 

She  smiled,  and  only  our  ardent  glances 
spoke. 

"  How  came  you  to  think  of  it?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  was  sitting  in  my  room  after  dinner, 
thinking  and  thinking.  And  suddenly  I  could 
see  this  room,  and  you,  and  the  spectre,  as 
plainly  as  I  see  you  now.  I  felt  your  terror; 
I  knew  every  thought  that  was  passing  in 
your  brain,  the  anguish  of  it!  And  then,  and 
then,  an  idea  struck  me.  I  had  never  appealed 
in  vain  to  Lord  Clarenceux  in  life  —  why 
should  I  not  appeal  now?  I  threw  a  wrap 
over  my  shoulders  and  ran  out.  I  didn't  take 
a  cab,  I  ran  —  all  the  way.  I  scarcely  knew 
what  I  was  doing,  only  that  I  had  to  save  you. 
Oh,  Carl,  you  are  free !  " 

"  Through  you,"  I  said. 

She  kissed  me,  and  her  kiss  had  at  once  the 
pure  passion  of  a  girl  and  the  satisfied  solici- 
tude of  a  mother. 

"Take  me  home!"  she  whispered. 


3o8  THE    GHOST 

Outside  the  hotel  an  open  carriage  happened 
to  be  standing.  I  hailed  the  driver,  and  we 
got  in.  The  night  was  beautifully  fine  and 
mild.  In  the  narrow  lane  of  sky  left  by  the 
high  roofs  of  the  street  the  stars  shone  and 
twinkled  with  what  was  to  me  a  new  meaning. 
For  I  was  once  more  in  accord  with  the  uni- 
verse. I  and  Life  were  at  peace  again. 

"  Don't  let  us  go  straight  home,"  said  Rosa, 
as  the  driver  turned  towards  us  for  instruc- 
tions. "  It  seems  to  me  that  a  drive  through 
Paris  would  be  very  enjoyable  to-night." 

And  so  we  told  the  man  to  proceed  along 
the  quays  as  far  as  he  could,  and  then  through 
the  Champs  Elysees  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 
The  Seine  slept  by  its  deserted  parapets  like 
a  silver  snake,  and  only  the  low  rumble  of  the 
steam-car  from  Versailles  disturbed  its  slum- 
ber. The  million  lights  of  the  gas-lamps, 
stretching  away  now  and  then  into  the  endless 
vistas  of  the  boulevards,  spoke  to  me  of  the 
delicious  companionship  of  humanity,  from 
which  I  had  so  nearly  been  snatched  away. 
And  the  glorious  girl  by  my  side  —  what  of 
her  companionship?  Ah,  that  was  more  than 
a  companionship ;  it  was  a  perfect  intercourse 
which  we  shared.  No  two  human  beings  ever 


THE    INTERCESSION  309 

understood  one  another  more  absolutely,  more 
profoundly,  than  did  Rosa  and  myself,  for  we 
had  been  through  the  valley  and  through  the 
flood  together.  And  so  it  happened  that  we 
did  not  trouble  much  with  conversation.  It 
was  our  souls,  not  our  mouths  which  talked  — 
talked  softly  and  mysteriously  in  the  gracious 
stillness  and  obscurity  of  that  Paris  night.  I 
learnt  many  things  during  that  drive  —  the 
depth  of  her  love,  the  height  of  her  courage, 
the  ecstasy  of  her  bliss.  And  she,  too,  she 
must  have  learnt  many  things  from  me  —  the 
warmth  of  my  gratitude  to  her,  a  warmth 
which  was  only  exceeded  by  the  transcendent 
fire  of  my  affection. 

Presently  we  had  left  the  borders  of  the 
drowsy  Seine,  which  is  so  busy  by  day,  so 
strangely  silent  by  night.  We  crossed  the 
immense  Place  de  la  Concorde.  Once  again 
we  were  rolling  smoothly  along  the  Champs 
Elysees.  Only  a  few  hours  before  we  had 
driven  through  this  very  avenue,  Rosa  and  I, 
but  with  what  different  feelings  from  those 
which  possessed  us  now!  How  serene  and 
quiet  it  was!  Occasionally  a  smooth-gliding 
carriage,  or  a  bicyclist  flitting  by  with  a  Chi- 
nese lantern  at  the  head  of  his  machine  — 


310  THE    GHOST 

that  was  all.  As  we  approached  the  summit 
of  the  hill  where  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  is,  a 
new  phenomenon  awaited  us.  The  moon  rose 
—  a  lovely  azure  crescent  over  the  houses,  and 
its  faint  mild  rays  were  like  a  benediction  upon 
us.  Then  we  had  turned  to  the  left,  and  were 
in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  We  stopped  the  car- 
riage under  the  trees,  which  met  overhead; 
the  delicatest  breeze  stirred  the  branches  to  a 
crooning  murmur.  All  around  was  solitude 
and  a  sort  of  hushed  expectation.  Suddenly 
Rosa  put  her  hand  into  mine,  and  with  a 
simultaneous  impulse  we  got  out  of  the  car- 
riage and  strolled  along  a  by-path. 

"  Carl,"  she  said,  "  I  have  a  secret  for  you. 
But  you  must  tell  no  one."  She  laughed  mis- 
chievously. 

"What  is  it?"  I  answered,  calmly  smiling. 

"  It  is  that  I  love  you,"  and  she  buried  her 
face  against  my  shoulder. 

"  Tell  me  that  again,"  I  said,  "  and  again 
and  again." 

And  so  under  the  tall  rustling  trees  we  ex- 
changed vows  —  vows  made  more  sacred  by 
the  bitterness  of  our  experience.  And  then 
at  last,  much  to  the  driver's  satisfaction,  we 
returned  to  the  carriage,  and  were  driven  back 


THE    INTERCESSION  311 

to  the  Rue  de  Rivoli.  I  gave  the  man  a 
twenty-franc  piece;  certainly  the  hour  was 
unconscionably  late. 

I  bade  good  night,  a  reluctant  good  night, 
to  Rosa  at  the  entrance  to  her  flat. 

"  Dearest  girl,"  I  said,  "  let  us  go  to  Eng- 
land to-morrow.  You  are  almost  English, 
you  know;  soon  you  will  be  the  wife  of  an 
Englishman,  and  there  is  no  place  like  Lon- 
don." 

"  True,"  she  answered.  "  There  is  no  place 
like  London.  We'll  go.  The  Opera  Comique 
will  manage  without  me.  And  I  will  accept 
no  more  engagements  for  a  very,  very  long 
time.  Money  doesn't  matter.  You  have 
enough,  and  I  —  oh,  Carl,  I've  got  stacks  and 
piles  of  it.  It's  so  easy,  if  you  have  a  certain 
sort  of  throat  like  mine,  to  make  more  money 
than  you  can  spend." 

"  Yes,"  I  said.  "  We  will  have  a  holiday, 
after  we  are  married,  and  that  will  be  in  a  fort- 
night's time.  We  will  go  to  Devonshire,  where 
the  heather  is.  But,  my  child,  you  will  be 
wanting  to  sing  again  soon.  It  is  your  life." 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  you  are  my  life,  aren't 
you?  "  And,  after  a  pause:  "  But  perhaps  sing- 


3i2  THE    GHOST 

ing   is   part    of   my   life,    too.      Yes,    I    shall 

sing/' 

Then  I  left  her  for  that  night,  and  walked 
slowly  back  to  my  hotel. 


THE   END. 


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